Spindle of Fate
by Cascadia
Summary: After five years of slavery, Obi-Wan is found and returned to the Jedi Temple. Time is caught up in flashbacks of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's time apart...But a darker future awaits. Sequel to 'Breath of Night' [complete]
1. Spindle I

**It's been a year since I left you hanging with 'Breath of Night'.... I'll bet some of you thought I wasn't going to finish this. (Hey, even I thought that a few times! ;)**

TITLE: SPINDLE OF FATE

AUTHOR: Cascadia

TIMEFRAME: 1 year pre-TPM

RATING: PG

CATEGORY: Drama/Angst, AU (Yes! I actually wrote an AU!)

SUMMARY: After five years of slavery, Obi-Wan is found and returned to the Jedi Temple. Time is caught up in flashbacks of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's time apart...But a darker future awaits.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Flashbacks are _italicized_. Also this is a sequel to 'Breath of Night', but I don't think it's necessary to read it in order to understand this.

ARCHIVE: Please ask first. Sites who have previously archived any of my stories, however, may archive any of them that they want to without asking.

DISCLAIMER: All recognizable characters are the property of Lucasfilm Limited. All the rest belong to me. I receive no profit from this.

WARNING: Character death; if it bothers you, go somewhere else.

No Slash, No Sex, No Profanity; Just good, clean angst! ;)

OO OO OO

SPINDLE OF FATE

CHAPTER ONE

"He's been found, Qui." Mace's deep voice sounded suspiciously fragile in the undying gloom that always seemed to inhabit Qui-Gon's quarters. Coruscant's traffic lights broke through the windows and moved haphazardly across the dark apartment like an invasion of tiny lights.

Qui-Gon stood frozen before the comm unit, hair a straggling mess, sleep clothes in disarray. Mace's call had pulled him from his sleep in the sorrowed pre-dawn hours of the night. Not that he was being deprived of precious slumber; he rarely slept at all these days, or rather these months.

Qui-Gon's breath caught and held, almost afraid to hope. He swallowed hard and then cleared his throat. "Is he . . ." No more than a vacant whisper. It was too much to believe after all this time.

"He's alive, Qui-Gon," Mace answered without inflection.

Alive? But what did that mean? Qui-Gon suddenly felt dizzy; he fumbled with shaking hands for the chair behind him. Sitting down heavily, he wiped his eyes before looking back at Mace's tension-lined face on the screen.

"Someone found him," the Jedi Councilor continued slowly, "out on the Outer Rim. A grain merchant saw him in a field . . ."

"A field?" Qui-Gon echoed hollowly when Mace's pause went on longer than he thought it should. He watched the dark-complexioned Councilor's small nod. Tightly gripping the table in front of him, Qui-Gon took a slow deep breath. "Where is he . . . now?"

Mace smiled solemnly. "In the hanger."

Qui-Gon leaned toward the comm, unsure if he had heard correctly. His voice grew stronger, a hint of hope glinting through. "The hanger? Now?"

A tiny nod. "Yes."

Qui-Gon's confusion showed. "Well, why didn't anyone . . ." he broke off and bounded toward the door without further comment.

"Qui-Gon?" Tiny lines creased Mace's mahogany brow. "Qui-Gon, are you still there?" He huffed loudly. "Fine! I'll meet you there, then!"

O

Waiting for the lift doors to open was testing Qui-Gon's patience. He paced the empty corridor, bare feet padding across thin purple carpet. He glanced out the floor-length windows every few seconds. There was minimal traffic filling the skies at this hour. Though he took a deep breath, nothing could quell the wild thud of his racing heart.

When he heard the lift arriving, he bolted to the doors. Only the barest restraint kept him from bowling over the woman who had started to disembark the lift when the doors opened. Even so, their shoulders collided, and the tall Jedi master had taken his place in the lift and punched the appropriate floor button before either had opportunity to speak.

"What in the Force are you doing?" she asked, watching the doors close, wondering why she had just missed her floor.

"Sorry, Depa," Qui-Gon's gaze remained plastered to the doors, as though any second they would fly open and he would pounce through. "I'm in a hurry."

Depa snickered softly as her dark eyes roved over her companion's attire. "In polka-dot pajamas?"

Qui-Gon swallowed nervously, then hesitantly glanced down at his appearance. "Oh."

" '_Oh'_ is all you have to say?" Depa crossed her arms in silent appraisal. She tried to keep from smirking, but knew she had failed entirely. "I think you owe me an explanation for nearly plowing me down . . . and for kidnapping me," she added with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

Qui-Gon's sapphire eyes widened in alarm. "Kidnapping?"

"Well, yes," Depa nodded, her deep chocolate braids swinging in rhythm. "I was on my way to my apartment for some much needed sleep before you redirected this thing." She sidled closer to the taller Jedi and leaned down and pushed another button. The lift jarred to a halt.

"What are you doing?" Qui-Gon bellowed, hands white-knuckled fists and nostrils flaring.

Depa moved to stand between the towering Jedi and the control panel. "Trying to find out what's wrong with you, Qui."

Qui-Gon looked hurt, like his heart had just been trounced upon by a herd of dewbacks.

Depa's expression softened. "I'm sorry," she said, suddenly sensing there was something serious behind the man's behavior. She turned and pushed the lift's button again to resume its course.

As a silent strain permeated the descending car, Depa kept to herself, mindful of her companion's privacy.

"Mace just told me," Qui-Gon said after a while, his tone anxious, but guarded, "that . . . that Obi-Wan's been found. He's in the hanger."

Depa's quick intake of breath barely preceded the lift's doors splitting. She watched Qui-Gon jump through and sprint down the corridor. After a quick wipe of her tearing eyes, she decided to follow.

O

When he stepped into the hanger, Qui-Gon swept the vast chamber with his gaze until he spotted a man standing at the end of a ship's lowered landing ramp talking to a Jedi. The man's rough appearance and his freighter ship indicated that this was probably the man who had brought Obi-Wan.

Beyond the ship, deep tones of the sky sharply contrasted the hazy pale lights illuminating the cavernous sanctuary. Yet a tenebrous mist hung about the hanger.

Qui-Gon swept past the two conversing men and dashed up the ship's ramp. He quickly canvassed the narrow hallways and cargo-laden compartments, finding no sign of anyone else until he stepped into a lounge area. He stopped abruptly, his gaze fixed on a long-awaited sight, almost disbelieving, and stared with a longing born of five empty years.

The young man was pale, his eyes haunted, and he appeared to be lacking in healthy weight. He looked up just then, seemed startled, a little frightened by the unexpected intrusion, but did no more than stare wide-eyed and gape.

Qui-Gon broke from his own shock and stumbled forward awkwardly until he reached the young man and pulled him up into his arms. "Obi-Wan," his voice no more than a faithless breath. "Obi-Wan, I can't believe it's really you."

Obi-Wan simply buried his face in the older man's chest and tangled his hands in Qui-Gon's sleep shirt, twisting tightly, afraid to let go and loose touch again.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon spoke the name softly, almost reverently, as he held the young man away from him to look him in the eyes. "I've looked everywhere for you, my Padawan, my Padawan. Everywhere."

A small smile graced Obi-Wan's face, and he gazed gratefully at the Jedi master.

But Qui-Gon's expression waxed regretful. "I'm so . . . sorry," he whispered in the stillness. "So sorry I could not find you, I searched and searched, but . . ." He shrugged sorrowfully, helplessly. "Tell me . . . where have you been? Are you all right? Are you hurt or . . . do you need anything?"

"I'm fine . . . now," Obi-Wan replied softly, his hands still clinging to Qui-Gon's shirt for some sense of security.

Obi-Wan looked so weary, the Jedi master judged. "Here," he gently directed Obi-Wan back to his seat, "sit down and rest." He settled himself beside the young man, pried the slender hands from his shirt and held them tenderly between his own.

Finally Qui-Gon took in more of Obi-Wan's appearance. His hair was slightly longer than the padawan cut, wispy russet bangs limp across his brow, a dark green tunic and breeches that tucked into brown ankle boots. He was neither filthy nor appearing in need of better clothing. His hair shone silky and clean and yet there was no padawan braid.

"Can I ask you something?" Obi-Wan ventured, a little uncertain.

"Of course you may." Qui-Gon's lips curled up in anticipation, glad to see his padawan inquisitive after all he had been through.

Pale blue eyes skittered over Qui-Gon. "Why are you dressed like that?" He failed to keep the giggle out of his tone, and he glanced back up, afraid he had insulted the man.

A wry smile tugged at one side of Qui-Gon's mouth. "That, young Padawan, is a story that will not be explained - at least not yet."

A quiet laugh from the doorway attracted their attention. Depa stood with a smirk playing on her face, while Mace's smug smile accompanied, "Let's get off this ship so its captain can get his haul on its way." He paused, spoke more softly, "He's already ten days off schedule for bringing Obi-Wan here. We should be grateful good people are still out there."

"Yes," Qui-Gon said as he rose. "Obi-Wan?"

The young man took the proffered hand and stood. His hesitance to move toward the door was noticed by all. "It's been so . . . long." It was a near whisper, yet filled the quiet room.

Mace was the first to recover. "We know it will seem strange to you."

"It's all right," Obi-Wan assured them. "I've waited for this, I've thought I'd never see the Temple again." He looked down. "I can't believe it's actually real."

"Come, then," said Mace.

The four Jedi exited the small ship and passed beyond the dark haze of the hanger, Obi-Wan's steps halting, his thoughts overwhelmed by coming home after years of that dream waxing dim.

"Home," Obi-Wan whispered as they reached the lift. It would take him into the heart of the Temple, to those long familiar corridors and chambers and richly adorned halls, once a waning memory, now poised to sprout into reality once more. "I thought I'd never see it again."

Depa stepped forward, pulling Obi-Wan into a quick, fierce hug. "Welcome back, Obi." She turned away when she released him just as fast as she had grabbed him and pretended to massage her temples. When she turned back, her eyes sparkled in the faint light.

Mace cleared his tightening throat. "I don't think much has changed around here, except," he glanced surreptitiously at Qui-Gon, who returned a miniscule shake of his head. "We can talk more in the morning, or whenever you feel up to it, Obi-Wan."

They stepped into the lift, the trip filled with casual chatter until the doors opened on a residential floor. Depa and Mace bid farewell and traveled on to a higher level, leaving Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan alone in the hall's nighttime stillness. Without a word they began striding down the corridor.

"Your old room," said the Jedi master at length, "it's just as you left it. I didn't change anything." He stopped and turned to face Obi-Wan. "I _couldn't_ change anything. It would have been like giving up hope."

Unsure of what response to make, Obi-Wan attempted a smile, but it was spoiled by the tears imprisoned in his eyes.

Qui-Gon stared at the space above Obi-Wan's head, unable to meet that pair of young eyes.

"Did," Obi-Wan said in a fragile voice, "did you know I was coming?"

"No," the Jedi master shook his head, now examining the floor, "no."

"I wanted to surprise you," Obi-Wan said, mirth glowing through the moisture in his eyes.

"You did," Qui-Gon replied. He raised his sight to that young face again, the one he had missed and many times imagined in horrific circumstances that he was unable to rescue it from.

"I'm a little thirsty." Obi-Wan glanced longingly down the hall toward their destination.

Qui-Gon smiled. "A kettle of tartith tea coming right up."

OO OO OO

More coming soon (including flashbacks)!

And one more note: I know there was one or two more wanting me to e-mail them when I started posting this, but has apparently deleted them (as they sometimes do). So I apologize. More in about two days...


	2. Spindle II

**SPINDLE OF FATE**

by Cascadia

See Chapter One for notes, disclaimer, etc.

**Reviewer replies are located at the end of the chapter.**

OO OO OO

CHAPTER TWO

Obi-Wan held his breath as he waited at their apartment door. His heart pounded out a nervous rhythm and he was beginning to feel just a little sick. Had it really been so long? Had the last five years truly been real and all of the torment and horror more than a black phantom?

Qui-Gon looked to him when the door slid away. "Home, my Padawan." He beckoned the young man to enter ahead of him, then followed Obi-Wan in. Myriad lights founted into luminescence as Qui-Gon made a quick trip around the apartment, turning on select lamps and overhead light fixtures yet leaving a flood of moonlight to bathe the main room as he remembered Obi-Wan liked. He returned to Obi-Wan, frozen inside the threshold, and gently pulled the emotion-stricken young man further into the main room.

Obi-Wan acquiesced in silence and settled on their old damasked sofa. It was the same hazel-colored, silken-patterned sofa that the young padawan had broken down one evening while in a fit. It still sat with a slight downward slope in the middle, a little uncomfortable if one were not used to it, but Obi-Wan found the couch as perfect as a threadbare sleep shirt - just as comfortable and just as much a symbol of home as anything else.

Qui-Gon had disappeared into the kitchen to heat a pot of tea. When he emerged, a spare few seconds later, he was startled to see the young man's cheeks shining by the threads of white moonlight that poured through the wide windows. It was tears.

He rushed to the sofa and engulfed Obi-Wan, held him fiercely, driven by a blazing emotion to protect, to defend and make things right . . . if at all possible. No more wilder desire had he ever borne.

Obi-Wan was limp in his embrace, head tucked under Qui-Gon's chin, arms curled inward, pale and shattered. A broken china doll in his hands.

He had to fix it. Qui-Gon wanted to prevent any more tears on Obi-Wan's part, but he had lost all control of a situation that he had never had control of. Of all the horrors in a universe that should have subsisted on love this one - this one - was the one horror that touched the deepest core of his soul. It was the frost that killed the root.

"You are not alone, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon repeated again and again until his throat turned sore. "You're not alone, my Padawan. Not alone, not alone."

The teakettle screamed until its voice died and the room fell into silence. Finally when tears were spent they pulled apart and Qui-Gon grasped the younger man's hands as he had done earlier on the ship. "Tell me . . . tell me what happened, where have you been, my Padawan?"

A shadow of anguish fluttered briefly over Obi-Wan's features, his eyes downcast, pallid face glistening wet. "So much happened. So long did I think to give up hope, to believe my life would be for nothing. To end in tragedy." He felt Qui-Gon squeeze his hands, and he peered up.

"If you prefer to not talk about it . . ."

"I want to. I need to," Obi-Wan answered. He inhaled deeply and stared out the window, not seeing the ceaseless air traffic but some distant, painful image etched in memory. "When I disappeared the girl, Loresce, had me locked up in her father's tomb. Then some others came, and I was taken to a ship . . ."

O

Misery hung thick in the dusty air, almost corporeal and yet unspoken in the darkest bowels of the ship that was reserved for the most dangerous of slaves. Every inhabitant, be it human or otherwise, knew their dreadful destination, knew the unnamed fate that could very easily befall any of them, knew that meager hope lay beyond the moment's breath. Terrified, most of them understandably were. But they had learned to keep their heart's desires and hopeless pleas to themselves - for no one wanted to catch the eye of the head slaver . . . .

Obi-Wan lifted his head from the dirt-scattered floor. He still lay where a squad of guards had left him. He was a Jedi, they had surmised not from his attire - for he still wore the black leather trousers and vest he had worn as a gladiator in Dimisfree - but from his padawan braid that trailed from behind his ear. A simple symbol so telling to those who hated the supposed 'arrogant, dangerous elite of the galaxy', as many termed them. More than once in his young life Obi-Wan had found himself exposed by that thin silken braid and his life endangered. 

Looking back over his shoulder to the thickly barred cell door, the padawan saw that his tormentors were all gone. No one waiting around to hurt him more. 

Too weak to hold his head up any longer, he pressed his cheek back to the cold floor and closed his eyes to the dark gloom of his cell. With his eyes shut, he could sometimes ignore his wretched situation. Sounds of rattling, scraping chains could be heard, but other than that he could almost imagine himself lying on the cool metal deck of Garen's apartment at the Temple, catching summer rays. He was in pain, however, and that fact alone destroyed the illusion.

A small series of quick chirps invaded his drifting thoughts. The droid. 

Remaining still, Obi-Wan waited until the serving droid warbled an indignant response for ignoring it and rolled away to deliver a measly meal to the next cell, before he tried to get up. 

Gingerly, he pushed himself to hands and knees, gasped as a sharp pain lanced though him. A rib, presumably broken. Normally, he would have reached for the Force, for it could help relieve the pain, but all he had sensed for days now was an empty numbness that despaired him by its insurmountable estrangement. A lifetime of training for naught without that sublime power to channel it away.

It was not only the golden bands placed on his wrists by the Dimisfreens that interfered. Those would have dimmed his Force sense and numbed him somewhat, but not destroyed any hope of a whisper touch. He also wore a metal Force-inhibiting collar that sent him into an almost dreamlike state - a waking realm of isolated reality and an unnerving fear of feeling alone. An initial unease of the golden bands' effectiveness to impair his Jedi-abilities when they had first seen him prompted his new owners to snap a slender metal circlet around his throat. Thereafter, they had proceeded to do with him as they pleased.

Slowly, mindful of his ribs, Obi-Wan scooted next to the food the droid had left: a small bowl of brownish soup with small lumps of some unidentifiable meat floating in it, and a moldy slice of golden diwi fruit. What he would give for some of Qui-Gon's latest cooking - exotic Ki-Amounna cuisine, learned directly from the Raja's personal chef. 

Connected by a short chain, heavy metal cuffs encircling his wrists made it difficult to eat, and there was no spoon. But he drank the soup, then chewed the slimy fruit with willful mindlessness. Even as he tasted the unsavory meal his thoughts turned to his captors. He had wondered at his treatment ever since being brought aboard. If he was to be a slave, why then, if they planned on selling him, did they treat him so savagely? His worth would certainly diminish the more damaged and marked he was. 

After he finished eating, Obi-Wan left the empty bowl near the door where the droid could retrieve it and crawled to the wall at the other end of his cell where he lay down and pulled his knees toward his chest until a spike of pain gave him pause. Though it had not been enough to eat, his stomach felt satisfied. Days of privation had gotten him used to hunger. Somehow, in his dreadful state, he drifted into slumber.

Not long afterward, he woke abruptly to the sharp clanging of metal on metal. Groggy aquamarine eyes opened, realized that he had fallen asleep, that it happened far too often these days. But no less a surprise when considering the dearth of sufficient sustenance and the shock of Force-inhibition.

"All right! Everyone up and to your door!" A human guard strolled by Obi-Wan's cell, his harsh voice ringing down the corridor while he banged a metal rod in his hand against cell bars as he walked along. 

Obi-Wan hesitated, but was standing by his door when the guard returned. He could see other prisoners gathered at their doors, looks of dread and unbridled trepidation quivering their filthy forms visible even in the ship's dimness. He wondered if he looked the same. 

"Not you," the guard shot at Obi-Wan, eyes hard and lips pressed into a thin sneering line. "You've got a different destination, boy."

Uncertainty shimmered though Obi-Wan, knotted like a paperweight in his stomach as he watched every cell but his own emptied and the prisoners herded out to be presented for sale. Then everyone was gone. The din of their processional departure gradually faded to the faintest sonance. Alone, he was drowned in a sea of desolate silence.

O

"Why did they abuse you?" Qui-Gon inquired in a tone of gentleness. "And why were you not taken with the others?"

Obi-Wan inhaled deeply. "They wanted to put a slave tag in me and hadn't one that would work in such close proximity to the Force-suppressors I was wearing." His hands twisted into frustrated fists. "They abused me because I was a Jedi and outlaws like that don't like Jedi."

Qui-Gon nodded, eyes full of compassion and understanding. "I'll get you that tea." He heated the water again and returned with two mugs of tea, their brims smoking with hot steam. When he handed Obi-Wan a mug he observed the unsteadiness of the young man's hands, the subtle way the liquid in his mug trembled like a gale-tossed ocean.

"I'm all right," Obi-Wan assured him, surely noticing what Qui-Gon had witnessed. The quiet determination of his tone and his unwavering gaze sent a flood of ease through the Jedi master. "It's just a difficult thing . . . to talk about . . . to anyone." Obi-Wan set his mug on the sofa table and revealed a vulnerable fear deep-set in his round blue eyes. "You must know how happy I am to be back, to be free again."

Qui-Gon nodded encouragingly.

"But I can't feel you," Obi-Wan lamented, eyes waxing ever wider. "Our training bond, I can't sense it."

Qui-Gon shifted his gaze away, to the wall, to the floor, to the ruby glimmering heart of his tea.

"I guess it's just been such a long time that . . ." Obi-Wan continued, trailing off in thought.

Qui-Gon stood abruptly. "My tea's cold. How's yours?"

"Uh," Obi-Wan felt his mug, swirling its contents slowly. "My is, too. But," he darted to his feet and grabbed Qui-Gon's mug, "let me get it." With a fragile smile the young man fled to the kitchen.

He was standing at the stove when Qui-Gon entered, his boots abandoned on the floor by the table. A tiny red flame fluttered below the kettle - a silent dance of heat and light - while Obi-Wan scanned the old familiar surroundings of the kitchen. A solemn sense of bittersweet diffused the scene; the young man was at once home and in strange lodgings. Had it been so many days - years even - since this place had been more than memory?

Obi-Wan roamed searching eyes about the room. "This is all right . . . and wrong." He slumped into a chair, shoulders sketching his unease.

"It will take awhile, I'm sure," Qui-Gon confided. With a gentle hand he squeezed Obi-Wan's shoulder, all the while holding those entrusting eyes with his own.

Obi-Wan looked away, as if he were about to say something but chose otherwise.

Qui-Gon moved to the heated kettle when it began screeching and poured two fresh mugs of tea, then he took a chair across the table and sat facing Obi-Wan.

"It was weeks later," the young man began hesitantly as he accepted a hot mug, "before anything unusual happened. The beatings continued. Threats, near-starvation," Obi-Wan let out a shaky breath. "I was beginning to think nothing was ever going to change . . . ."

O

Footsteps suddenly sounded, intermingling with the rattling and scraping of chains. 

Obi-Wan pressed himself against the cold back wall of his cell, his heart hammering as the distant plodding grew louder. It was more than one person, of that he was sure. 

One hand moved inside his leather vest to protectively cover his broken rib, the thick metal shackle sliding up his slender arm. He regulated his painful breaths that wanted to come faster. Just breathing hurt. The black of his pupils widened fractionally, bleeding into the aquamarine that surrounded them, as he stared through the bars where his tormentors would first appear. 

In a moment it could begin, and he would be powerless to resist so many strong arms. He drew himself in tightly, arms and legs curling up as if he could disappear within his own body and never have to come out to face them again. At last, one small gasp escaped - or was it a sob? - as several dark forms gathered outside his cell door.

Cold dread violently twisted his stomach. How many more beatings could he take until an internal hemorrhage sent his body beyond repair? Or until something gave inside and all that made him Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan, withered up and died? 

A despairing faintness washed over him as many sets of hands reached out, locked on his arms, and jerked him to his feet. He stood within the circle of guards - two humans, a rodian, a zabrak, and a very tall gotiard - swaying slightly, expecting the fists to come. 

"Come on, boy," said the human with the swarthy complexion and salt-and-pepper hair. "You're going to see the Doc."

When Obi-Wan's expression unconsciously turned shocked, they laughed abrasively and started dragging him toward the door. The door! A ridiculous joy rippled through him, having been confined to his cell since waking up here. Maybe they were telling the truth. Maybe . . . Convulsively, he swallowed, desperately hoping it so, for he feared a tiny part inside of him would break if not.

He was propelled along the corridor of cells where could see other prisoners - slaves - huddled behind thickly barred doors, looks of dread and unbridled trepidation quivering their filthy forms visible even in the ship's dimness.

A lift took them up several flights; they spilled out into a long corridor. Lights were brighter here, walls and floors generally cleaner. Conditioned to the gloom on the slave level, his eyes were stung by the harshness. Immediately, he squinted, but was given no time for pause as they propelled him several paces to a closed door that slid open at the touch of a button.

After dragging him through the door, they forced him to sit on what appeared to be an examination table, and then moved to stand at the other side of the immaculate room. Obi-Wan looked around at his surroundings, also taking in the scent of bacta that lightly scented the air. There were various cabinets, a sink, a disposal unit, and a short, thin man with receding hair and a gray imperial.

The man was inscrutable, his face expressionless as he came near with an odd instrument in his hand. This had to be the healer. "Now, just relax. I'm going to check you over and make sure you're okay," he announced when he saw Obi-Wan's shoulders suddenly tense. "But first," he added with a tiny smile. "I'm going to remove those bands from around your wrists."

Obi-Wan glanced uncertainly down at the golden bands. They were designed to dim his Force-sense, and he would be glad to have them off, even though his Force-ability would not return with the slaver's metal circlet about his throat.

"Trust me. All right?"

The voice sounded almost warm, almost compassionate, Obi-Wan imagined. Hesitantly, aquamarine eyes flicked up to the healer. He wanted to trust him, wanted to trust someone, but he knew that was a near impossibility. 

"All right?" the healer repeated.

"Why should I?" was Obi-Wan's soft reply.

"Because I won't hurt you," the healer insisted. He saw the flash of vulnerability in the youthful eyes that quickly looked away, past the guards, to stare at the far wall. Taking the silence for consent, he gently lifted one of Obi-Wan's hands and pushed the heavy shackle up his arm to get a better look at the gold bands. Then he went to a cabinet to replace the instrument in his hand with another one. 

Nervously worrying his lower lip, Obi-Wan watched the healer's back.

"Now," the little man turned around, "I think this ought to do it." He held out a long, thick tool. "I've never seen any Force-suppressors like those before, but the material looks malleable to a beorion cutter." Again he smiled kindly at Obi-Wan.

Keeping his fears at bay, the padawan sat still while the healer efficiently cut the golden Force-suppressors off. When they were pulled off, the skin beneath was pink and abraded. His wrists had been pinched tightly for so long, that he could not help but to rub them when they were free.

The healer quietly cleared his throat, drawing Obi-Wan's gaze to met his own. "Are you hurting anywhere? Besides your black eye?"

Obi-Wan looked away, down at his wrists.

"I can't fix it if you don't tell me."

Silence.

The healer blinked at Obi-Wan's defiance. He turned to the guards. "Do any of you know anything?"

The rodian guard stepped forward, making Obi-Wan tense slightly again. "I'm sure he must be hurting somewhere," the guard reported.

Several snickers followed that statement.

The healer's eyebrows rose in shock.

"We ain't done nothin' like that, Doc," the swarthy human admitted truthfully. "None of us swing that way. And besides, the Boss would have our heads if we did."

Visibly relieved, the healer looked back at his patient. "Well?"

Obi-Wan remained motionless and withdrawn. That youthful gaze remained fixed on his wrists.

Sighing, the healer moved in front of the boy and carefully began feeling Obi-Wan's arms, then legs, watching for any sign of discomfort. There were several bruises he noted on his arms and chest, and of course, the black eye. Obi-Wan remained passive, seemingly ignoring the ministrations until a hand slid along his ribcage, causing him to grimace. 

"Ah-ha!" the healer crowed. "I found something." 

Obi-Wan's stomach did flip-flops. He had feared that any knowledge of his injury would be used to hurt him further, but now that the healer had discovered it, he inwardly pleaded that the little man's kindness would continue.

The healer passed a small handheld device across Obi-Wan's chest, discerning the break of one rib. A series of regular beeps accompanied the exercise. 

"A simple, complete fracture," he diagnosed with a small nod. "I'd have you sent to a bacta tank, if we had one, but . . ." the healer shrugged apologetically. 

The healer made sure the bones were aligned, then tightly wrapped the padawan's chest with some off-white fabric, to ensure the bones stayed immobilized and would heal properly. 

Somehow Obi-Wan remained still, his face only mildly contorting in pain. 

"Now," the healer broke the hush that had filled the room, "provided you stay clear of any more casual beatings, you should be fine soon." He frowned at the guards, who shifted uneasily. 

"The Boss said it was okay," the rodian offered in lame excuse.

"But the Boss," the healer countered, "wants him well now, doesn't he?" 

The zabrak grinned toothily, yellow eyes glinting. "Only because he wants to sell him for a good price." 

Through it all, Obi-Wan sat still, quietly listening while he secretly trembled on the inside. The healer was presently facing a cabinet, extracting something from a shelf. The padawan watched him furtively, sharply inhaled when he saw something he recognized, something that made him jump up from the examination table. 

But the guards were there immediately to restrain him. Someone backhanded Obi-Wan. Then he was wrestled back on the table and held there. 

"You'd think he'd stop fightin' us after all we already done," observed the swarthy human. 

"You'd think," echoed another one, who favored Obi-Wan with a minatory expression.

Obi-Wan glared at them and raised his chin defiantly. It would be useless to argue; nothing would change. He faced the situation as well as he could . . . as well as his master would expect of him. His struggles to free himself continued, but the powerful hands of five guards easily held him down, and he was too weak from insufficient nourishment to offer much resistance anyway.

He turned a mildly mutinous gaze to the healer as he approached with a syringe in one hand and a slave-implant infuser in the other. Light briefly flashed off the long silver needle, and Obi-Wan tried to twist from the arms that held him. The healer touched the sharp, cold metal to his neck. He jerked his head away, groaning and wincing from the sharp sting, brows slightly scrunching together, eyes painted with distress. 

The healer noted the discomfort that danced over the slave's face before he depressed the hammer and emptied a thick yellow liquid into the youth's bloodstream. 

It took mere seconds for the tranquilizer to hit Obi-Wan; his struggles ceased; his thoughts softened into insensibility; lashes fluttered closed to settle peacefully against smooth, pale cheeks. 

As his consciousness melted away into darkened dreams, he never saw where the slave-implant was injected.

O

"That meant that they weren't going to beat me anymore," Obi-Wan said, sounding slightly removed from the reality of it all. "It wasn't all bad."

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed, though he knew - and could discern from Obi-Wan's demeanor - that he was only looking for something to keep the whole experience from dragging him away, from drowning him under a dark sea of misery.

Obi-Wan remained quiet and reserved for several agonizing minutes. Finally he looked at Qui-Gon. He tried for a smile, but only achieved a quivering lip, which the paleness of his face only emphasized.

At a loss of what to do, Qui-Gon left his seat and pulled Obi-Wan to him, encasing the young man in a caring and tender embrace. They stood that way while they both wept silent tears, minutes clipping away as the horror of reality bled into the deepest part of the night.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and pushed away from the strong arms that encircled him. He wiped a sleeve across his face while Qui-Gon dried his own and walked them back to the sofa in the main room. After they settled on the soft cushions, Qui-Gon waited in patience for Obi-Wan to continue when he felt up to it.

"It was strange," Obi-Wan said in a detached voice. "To be sold, like . . . like an animal."

Qui-Gon only nodded.

"Have you noticed," began the young man, "that I haven't called you . . . 'Master'?" His voice was soft, and he glanced quickly away, feeling ashamed, ever out of place in the world that should have been secure and easily welcoming to a tormented spirit.

"Yes." Qui-Gon said no more, waiting.

A quick in-drawn breath from Obi-Wan preceded a difficult swallow, and still he remained reserved, held suspended between doubt and confusion. "I was in the hands of a slaver," he finally whispered. "They sold me. I had to call someone else - someone terrible and desirous of dominating power - 'master'." His eyebrows knitted in distressed bewilderment. "I was lost, alone. No one around who could help." He looked up, wanting understanding, wanting a word to sanction his - to him - misbehavior. "I didn't want to, I didn't."

Qui-Gon looped an arm around the younger man's shoulders. "I know."

Several small sips of his tea seemed to calm Obi-Wan, before he continued . . . .

OO OO OO

**To all: it feels strange to be posting a story after being away for a year. As a matter of fact putting up that first chapter was just as nerve wracking as posting my first story.**

**Expect the next chapter in a couple of days! I plan on posting updates about that often.**

**Banshee Fay:** Thank you for the welcome back! I hope you enjoy! :)

**Athena Leigh:** It's nice to hear from some familiar faces! I was determined to finish this sequel, though a few times I decided I wasn't going to. But I just can't bear to leave something unfinished. Glad you're reading! :)

**shadow warrior:** Thank you! Obi-Wan is my favorite Star Wars character too. Hope you enjoy! :)

**Sheila:** It's nice to see you here! I'm not sure why I decided on Obi-Wan's calm return, but this story went through a couple of big structural changes before this senario was settled on. Most scenes, however, remained unchanged. Glad you're reading! :)

**Clover Brandybuck:** Oh, a Brandybuck! Any relation to Merry? (Yes, I admit I've turned into a bit of a Middle-earth fanatic in the last year!) The humor came unexpectedly, just seemed to want to happen. I'm so glad it fit in with the seriousness of the circumstance. Hope you enjoy! :)

**Rieyeuxs:** Well, thank you! It feels strange (and yet fun) to be posting again. I'd forgotten how much enjoyment it can be! :) Thanks for reading!


	3. Spindle III

**SPINDLE OF FATE**

by Cascadia

See Chapter One for notes, disclaimer, etc.

**Reviewer replies are located at the end of the chapter.**

OO OO OO

CHAPTER THREE

Obi-Wan tugged at the short chain connecting the metal shackles that cinched painfully around his wrists, unsettled as his situation was slowly taking on frightful shades of stark reality. Harsh light glanced off everything and threw waves of dazzling brightness into his eyes. He squinted to see the pulsing marketplace around him. 

An anonymous slave market on some anonymous Outer Rim world. Somewhere in the heart of the slave trade.

All around him poor, wretched slaves were herded around on chains like livestock, and Obi-Wan wanted to gag on the putrid odors wafting along a much too hot breeze. 

So sad, so distressing to see dispirited beings under the oppressive yoke of bondage. The loss of hope sketching the demeanor of so many tore at the padawan's heart. 

He walked in the midst of three guards. A longer chain ran from the bindings on his wrists to the hand of the slaver assistant who walked ahead of him. A sharp yank on it drew Obi-Wan's scattering attention. The padawan glared at the back of a bald head, then noticed they stood at the ingress to a pavilion. Its maize-yellow fabric waved in the wind, popping as a shifting air current struck the canopy.

Obi-Wan reluctantly followed the man inside, his guards hovering closely about him. He felt relieved to find some shade from the sun, but the smells inside were potently concentrated and nearly overwhelming. He pressed his hands over his nose. 

"Stop that!" the assistant ordered sharply, slapping the padawan's hands down. An exacerbated scowl contorted the corpulent face. Fleshy jowls stood taut; orange, narrowed eyes warned. 

Uncowed, Obi-Wan glared back. 

"You don't scare me," the slaver decreed. "And don't go making threats about a big bad Jedi master coming to kill me, because I've heard that one before." He patted a hand over his pudgy chest. "Never stopped this heart from beating."

The assistant engaged in the staring match with the padawan a moment longer, then fastened his attention on one of the guards. "Chain him to a post." He turned a smug expression back to Obi-Wan and smiled as the slave was lead to a metal pole.

Row after row of tall, immovable posts occupied the open-air space beneath the pavilion. It was customary procedure to chain slaves to the posts to show that they were purchasable. Interested parties could look the slave over and perform any price haggling with the seller while the slave was kept secured. 

Once the end of Obi-Wan's chain was locked to a metal rod, it left comfortable space for him to move around in while at the same time kept him unable to reach anything else. He sat down on the dirt floor and dropped his head in his hands, trying to forget how bad the place smelled.

"Try not to look so sick," the man commanded with an agitated kick to the padawan's feet. "The Boss wants a lot for you. So don't go trying to ruin anything."

Obi-Wan looked up, curbing his growing anger with the thought that he might end up with a nicer master than this man and the rest of them on the slave ship. He swallowed and looked away into the distance, a distressful flutter in his heart. Now he was beginning to think like a slave. 

But that's what he was . . . .

The man lingered. "Do you need a drink?" he barked. "Is that it, slave?"

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, still gazing mindlessly into the distance. He accepted a flask from the fleshy fingers and gulped liberally. The water refreshed him, and he ran the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, murmured a distracted, "Thank you."

The assistant snatched the flask, pocketing it, and anxiously scanned around for possible buyers. 

Wrapping his arms around his up-drawn knees, Obi-Wan stared at the dirt in ripening shock. He felt sick, his ribs hurt, and he just wanted to go home . . . . But a slave had no choice.

O

The morning passed into a cloudy afternoon of steady business traffic. Several prospects had stopped to inquire about the young human with a Force-inhibiting collar, some brave enough to approach within touching distance, including one slimy Hutt. Yet none had expressed positive enthusiasm to purchase such potentially hazardous property. Force users came with an unstated warning: buy at your own risk. 

One particularly memorable human female had gabbered on endlessly about Obi-Wan's 'incomparatively exquisite allurement and bearing that approached the divine', until she had glimpsed the meaning behind the 'humble choker' that he wore. Upon that discovery, the fickle woman had expressed her disgust with the slave's undesirable qualities, then fled the beaming seller. 

By the hour that the final golden incandescence of sunlight flared across the vaulted sweep of deepening sky, the slaver assistant was waxing apprehensive. No doubt the Boss expected his pudgy helper to come through with a big sale.

No doubt the consequence of failure would be harsh. 

No doubt Obi-Wan would suffer for it, as well. 

The assistant paced, muttering under his breath. "What am I going to do?" He twisted to face Obi-Wan, who was sitting cross-legged and slumping against the post he was secured to. 

"What am I going to do?" he whispered to himself.

Obi-Wan glanced up at him, unconcerned with the man's distress but tingling with his own. "Let me go," he blurted out without thinking.

The assistant's eyes rounded incredulously. "I can't do that." His hands twitched nervously.

"Just what I was looking for," a silky voice smoothly intervened. "Of course, my first choice would have been about six inches taller and twice as old."

As the assistant and Obi-Wan both looked at the interlocutor, the padawan's mind whirled. For he beheld a vision out of time. And an extremely dangerous one.

"Yes, he is quite the catch," the assistant blithely stated, his face instantly brightened. "You like him? Yes?" 

Garbed entirely in black, Xanatos of Telos stood gazing down predatorily at Obi-Wan, who only stared at him in open shock. He looked just as Obi-Wan remembered him, but for a few age-lines. A sly smile curved the former Jedi's lips. "Long time no see, eh little padawan?" A black-gloved hand slid in a pocket concealed beneath his capacious cloak and withdrew a sable, silk drawstring pouch.

"This slave is sure to bring excitement in your life," the assistant pitched.

Xanatos snorted. "I'll bet."

The assistant's counterfeit jovial expression twitched. "He is a cultivated treasure from beyond the sea of stars. A pliant creature to fulfill your needs. A menial slave to -"

"Yes, yes, of course." Xanatos' patience dissolved.

"You wish to discuss a price?" The seller's weakening confidence cracked his voice.

"Indeed I do," Xanatos rejoined seriously.

Obi-Wan finally found his voice. "No!" He surged to his feet in panic, pulling on his chain when it impeded him from gaining more ground toward them. They stood just out of reach.

The assistant turned threatening eyes on the padawan. "Quiet, slave!" 

"Sounds like the boy needs a good hard lesson in obedience," Xanatos opined casually.

"Nothing that cannot be attained by one so gracious as yourself," the seller commented, careful to produce a sense of honesty.

Obi-Wan's temper rose at the triumphant twinkle in the former Jedi's eyes. He clenched his hands. "Don't sell me to him," he requested of the slaver, desperation coloring his tone. He wasn't really begging, was he? "He'll probably kill me just to amuse himself. Or - or worse!" 

Xanatos chuckled good-naturedly. He jingled the silk pouch in his palm. "What an imagination."

"One of his many positive traits," the assistant added, nodding eagerly. "Shall we discuss a price? Yes?"

"Of course."

"No, no!" Obi-Wan protested again. He was aware how desperate he sounded, but was beyond caring. 

The assistant glared at Obi-Wan. "I told you, quiet!"

Watching as Xanatos and the slaver assistant walked a detached distance from him so that he could not overhear their conversation, the padawan's innards churned; his heart hammered. 

This could not be happening, his mental voice screamed. Xanatos was long dead. Six years ago, in fact. Yet there he stood - alive and seemingly healthy, no noticeable effects of the black acid pool he had leapt in. 

A cool breeze blew through the pavilion, and Obi-Wan shivered against the threat of falling night. Despite artificial lights shining overhead, he could spot the comfortless onyx sky through a wide aperture at the far exit. Darkness filled the depths of his eyes. With a sigh, he dropped down next to the post to wait. There was nothing else to do. 

O

Qui-Gon's eyes were wide with unbelief. "He's . . . he's alive?"

"Yes," said Obi-Wan. "And still working evil." He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands, teacup long empty and abandoned on the sofa table.

"But how?" Qui-Gon stood up, staring blankly ahead. "We saw him . . ."

"Yes, I know." Obi-Wan heaved a wobbling sigh, his face still covered. Despite the security of home and Qui-Gon's presence frightening specters moving by Xanatos' command crowded round him, demons of a crop of hell years that rebelled to never fade into forgetfulness.

"You're sure it was him?" Qui-Gon's unbelief battled into shades of anger. That failed Jedi would never become more than a simple failure and a lifeless image in the past. Never could he hurt Obi-Wan; he was dead!

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fought to push the demons away. His breath grew ragged and shallow until he sought comfort in the sweet liquid tartness of his tea. "Yes," his voice a forceful whisper. "It was him!" When his hands sent the mug of tea perilously trembling he set it down on the table.

The distress that covered Obi-Wan was suddenly noticed by Qui-Gon. He must not forget that this young man had suffered so for years with experiences he would probably never have. He sat down by Obi-Wan and placed a gentle hand on his knee. "Tell me," Qui-Gon asked in a kind tone, "did he actually buy you?"

O

Stars glimmered feebly. Obi-Wan glanced up at the night sky, not seeing the celestial spheres of fire that blazed but delicately at such vast distance, for a tempest of confused turmoil heaved inside him. 

"I don't understand," he repeated for perhaps the thousandth time, blinking rapidly.

"You're my slave," Xanatos stated as he hurried them along a patch of shadow toward his spacecraft. "That's all you need to understand."

"But . . ." Obi-Wan vainly pulled against a Force-enhanced grip that likely bruised his upper arm. "But . . . you're dead." He twisted to glimpse the taller man's face now eerily cast half in violet shadow, half in weak light.

Xanatos released a wicked laugh. "I feel quite alive, little slave."

Obi-Wan balked at the reference. He stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance when his captor - owner? - forcefully jerked him along.

They arrived at a ship and Xanatos dragged Obi-Wan up the landing ramp, palmed the entry closed, and roughly shoved the padawan against a bulkhead.

"Tasten!" Xanatos' gaze darted between two opposite facing doors. "Tasten! Get in here!"

A young human boy appeared in one of the doorframes. Slim and approximately eight years of age, he fidgeted and stared at Obi-Wan with wide and curious brown eyes before looking at the former Jedi. "Master?" His voice faintly quivered. 

Xanatos straightened to his full height. "Fix me something to eat. I'm famished." 

"Yes, Master." The boy disappeared after a small, obsequious bow.

Obi-Wan's empty stomach rumbled at the mention of food. He remembered he had last eaten some time ago yesterday on the slave ship. Unconsciously, he fingered the heavy chain that connected his shackles and slouched against the gray wall. 

"Now I have to decide what to do with you," Xanatos said, his dark intimidating gaze studying Obi-Wan's mutinous expression. With heavy black robe fluttering across a cold metal deck, he moved to stand in front of the padawan.

Obi-Wan tensed and gazed warily up at him, his left eye surrounded by a dark bruise contrasting bright blue. "Into slavery now?" the padawan asked sardonically.

"Not particularly. But I just couldn't pass up an old . . ." he smirked darkly, "friend."

Obi-Wan brushed off the sarcasm. "Then what was that?" He gestured to where the young boy had disappeared.

Xanatos turned abruptly away, shifting uneasily toward the doorway. When he turned back, his face was uncharacteristically solemn. "Just a little helper."

Obi-Wan waxed mildly curious.

Seeing the padawan's interest, Xanatos stalked back in front of him. "I know just where to keep you 'til we get home." His handsome face formed a devilish smile.

OO OO OO

**More soon!**

**Fudge:** Thank you! I've tried to portray Obi-Wan's strength and maturity as the Jedi he is. Despite all his endured hardship I believe he would have a resilience only strengthened by it. :)

**Stranded Stargazer:** ::blushes:: Thank you! :) I try to get the characterizations right. Glad you approve.

**Clover Brandybuck:** Yes, we all would like to hug Obi-Wan! I'm glad Qui-Gon's feelings were discernible. I like to be able to get it across without spelling it out, or explicitly stating it. Thanks! :)

**Athena Leigh:** Thank you! Obi-Wan needs lots of rest and care to help him recover. It's good that he's now back at the Temple. :)

**Pokey1984:** It's good to be back! I like visual description too, and I added just a little passing reference of Obi-Wan's missing braid in the first chapter. Are you happy now?? ;)

**Padawan-Travina:** Yes, it's finally here! :) Better late than never, I guess. Here's more; hope you enjoy!

**Shaindl:** Thank you for stopping by! :) More angst on the way! heh heh heh . . . ;)

**Daniella:** Thank you so much! Is this soon enough? :)

**Sheila:** Yes yes, poor poor thing! Thanks for reading! :)

**LuvEwan:** Another familiar face! :) Yes, it is sad, as the situation would be.


	4. Spindle IV

SPINDLE OF FATE

by Cascadia

See Chapter One for notes, disclaimer, etc.

Reviewer replies are located at the end of the chapter.

OO OO OO

CHAPTER FOUR

Qui-Gon's attention seemed to be drifting. The Jedi master leaned a bit too heavily on the sofa arm, Obi-Wan thought, and his face conveyed something like physical distress.

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan asked in concern.

Qui-Gon immediately smiled and sat up straighter, though slow in his movements. "I'm just a little dizzy. Nothing important." He took a casual sip of his tea while Obi-Wan watched. "Look." His hand thrust up to point somewhere above the couch, and Obi-Wan followed the direction. "Look," he repeated, "up on the shelf. I wanted to keep them where I could see them whenever I wanted."

The young man bounded up from the sofa and looked on the shelf. "It's my . . ." his voice fell away in a hush, overwhelmed by awe, by a remembrance of a long unseen treasure.

"Yes," Qui-Gon laughed quietly, his joy bubbling up at seeing Obi-Wan's reaction. "It's your lightsabre." He rose to his feet to stand alongside Obi-Wan. "And," he pointed to a dark form next to it, "your old rock." The last word was emphasized huskily, with enthusiasm he had not felt for far too many years.

"My rock." Obi-Wan smiled and then picked up the weapon, the grip fitting as naturally as it ever had, still an extension of him in some ways. After a moment of examining the 'sabre with near reverence he placed it back on the shelf and scooped up the rock. "Warm," his voice came out soft. "Just like I remembered," he added even as happiness transformed his aspect; his face came aglow in mirth long buried. "Everything is."

Qui-Gon sank back to the sofa. "Yes," he stated. "Everything."

Slipping down next to the Jedi master, Obi-Wan let out a contented sighed and nodded. As he continued to stare at the rock, thumbs rubbing the hard, flecked surface, he went on: "Anyway, the ride to . . . wherever Xanatos called home – and I still don't know what planet I was on – the ride was . . ." He shuddered, then shook his head. . . .

O

Obi-Wan had been here forever, it seemed. Thick, impenetrable blackness . . . . Shadowless, lightless. Swallowed in living dark. 

He tried to breathe calmly, tried to keep himself still - beyond a brief readjustment of his posture and limbs to keep some sense of comfort, but there was barely enough room for that. Long ago he had stretched out curious hands, testing the limits of his prison, horrified to find it a very small, very cramped environment. 

So small.

A stab of sorrow coursed through him as his thoughts shifted to Qui-Gon. So long since he had felt that gentle comforting presence in the back of his mind. Or seen the warm smile and tender regard of Qui-Gon's face. Through it all, one thing had kept him from sinking into desolation: Qui-Gon was going to free him in some way. _He did not understand it; he had stopped trying to. Many times he had imagined Qui-Gon fighting his way past Xanatos and a whole army of execrable characters, brilliant light breaking through the open door to reveal his master with lightsabre in hand, come to free him. _

"How much longer, Master?" he whispered faintly in the pitch black.

A sudden metallic clattering made him jerk back involuntarily, then realized what it had been. Drawing in a few slow gulps of air seemed to soothe his nerves, then he reached blindly for the small bowl and cup they had left for him. Somehow there was a panel through which his food was slid in to him. Every day, every night . . . Not one bead of light ever spilled in. 

So dark . . .

An unsteady hand clawed down his neck, angrily clutched and tugged at the edge of his open vest. He kicked at the collection of dirty cups and bowls - once counted to estimate the passage of time - residing at his feet. The dishes clanked. A cup rolled and banged against a wall.

Silence, once more.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Opened them again. Still nothing but black . . .

"Force, help me." A trembling whisper.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he pulled his knees up to his chest and quivered delicately as fear fluttered at the pit of his stomach.

"Control yourself." The words were soft but urgent. Panicked?

He had to get out of here, he had to . . . Before he lost all control and begged Xanatos to let him out.

O

The darkness called to Obi-Wan . . . . Reaching, touching, consuming. He felt its icy phantom fingers inching along his skin, coursing through his veins, making him its own. How long had he been here? There was nothing but perpetual black. 

"Master?" His breathy whisper pierced the ebon nothingness around him. He stubbornly refused to acknowledge the trembling in his voice. It was only his imagination, a trick of his mind. Xanatos was doing it to him. The former Jedi was determined to break him; Obi-Wan knew he was.

Straightening out his knee, he heard his boot scrape across the floor. Even the sound failed to conjure up any mental images. He blinked fruitlessly.

"When are you coming, Master?" 

He waited for an answer. There might_ be one, mightn't there? Maybe if he waited long enough he would hear one. Maybe . . ._

"It's dark here, Master . . . . Dark . . . and . . ." Was that him whose breath sounded so ragged? "Remember the time on . . . Ynona? When you couldn't find me? You thought I got lost on the forest's trail." He paused with the slightest hint of a smile. "I never told you that I got lost in that cave you told me to stay away from. It was dark there too, in the cave." The smile disappeared. "When I finally found my way out I was afraid to tell you . . . ."

Hugging himself tightly, he stifled an almost overwhelming urge to cry out, to ask to be let out if only for a little while. That would be begging. And he would never do that.

"Master," Obi-Wan softly gasped, dropping his head to his hands and frantically rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Please, Force! Don't leave me here!" He swallowed convulsively as he felt nausea sweep over him. With it came a cold sweat. He had almost thrown up several times already, and would have if he had not stopped eating. His thoughts seemed to tremble.

Without warning, light blasted in like a river breaking forth through a dam, gleaming bright and bold and harsher than corporeal sunlight dazzling a summer noon. It flooded over him, drenching and pushing away the heavy ocean of darkness.

And it hurt his eyes.

Xanatos stood watching the figure huddled in the corner of the small cell, a wide bar of light falling from the doorway to lie across the boy. Obi-Wan moaned, listlessly moving his arms to cover his face from the harsh illumination while pressing farther into the corner behind him. 

Stepping inside the cell, Xanatos noticed several full bowls of uneaten food and cups of water. A couple days worth, at least. Apparently the boy had stopped eating at some point. 

He crouched in front of Obi-Wan. "Would you like to come out?" he asked kindly, noted the boy's slight trembling. 

Obi-Wan remained silent, withdrawn, covering his face with both arms.

"Turn the lights down," Xanatos directed to someone outside the door.

Immediately the illumination dimmed to a soft warm glow.

Being as gentle as he could, he placed a tentative hand on Obi-Wan's arm. With a shuddering gasp the padawan twisted away from the touch.

Xanatos drew an impatient breath. "You don't want to stay in the dark, do you, Obi-Wan?"

No, he definitely did not want that! But he would never admit it. Hesitantly, the padawan stole a squinting look from behind his arms. His thoughts were muddled, his vision distorted, but he was sure he recognized Xanatos.

Xanatos smiled, not unpleasantly. "Come on, Obi-Wan. Let's go." He stretched out a hand towards the padawan.

"I can't wait," Obi-Wan mumbled in his disorientation, trying to sound sarcastic but failing hopelessly. Slowly, he blinked to clear his vision. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

Xanatos burst out in laugher, let his hand drop, smile marginally fading. "Oh, Obi-Wan, you really have been around Qui-Gon too long. Like you have a choice." He sobered coldly. "Let me put it this way: you can come under your own power, or you can come unconscious and hoisted over someone's shoulder. What'll it be, slave?"

Obi-Wan's wary gaze followed Xanatos' hand that darted out toward him again, felt the faintest tingle of unease travel up his spine. 

"You don't want anyone to hurt you, do you?" Xanatos goaded.

Obi-Wan suppressed a shudder at that. The slavers had already hurt him more than he dared to admit. But he knew it would be useless to resist; the former Jedi would do what he wanted anyway. He shook his head in bleak resignation.

Triumph danced across Xanatos' features. "Then come with me now. We're leaving the ship."

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan accepted the beckoning hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. He wavered and had to place a hand on the taller man's shoulder to steady himself. He was weak from not eating, confused by being confined in darkness for so long. Now standing, his joints felt stiff, his back ached. Within the dimness his mind was veiled in, he realized a heavy cloak was draped around his bare shoulders. Then there were arms bracing him, keeping him from collapsing to the deck like he felt like doing.

Xanatos took him through comparatively overbright corridors to a yawning hatch where hazy gray rain colored dim the world beyond. Obi-Wan's hood was drawn up, hiding his face deep within its shadowed recess, and they disembarked the craft. 

Evening air chilled with heavy drops. Obi-Wan breathed in deeply; the refreshing cleanness of uncirculated air filled his lungs, invigorating his still slightly fogged mind. Spaceships of every size packed the cramped lanes of a prodigious spaceport. Now outside in the open air, he took a furtive peek at Xanatos' ship. The large vessel was ever so much greater in girth than he had remembered on the one occasion he had seen it. It was then he noticed the young cabin boy, Tasten, was following them. 

They hurried along the port's crowded walkways, beside a giant edifice domed by violet mosaic tiles that glinted darkly with rain, and out into the less constricted streets of some nondescript galactic city that the padawan could not immediately place; a mélange of beings sputtered past them, none giving them so much as a glance. Here they slowed their pace, Xanatos' vice-like grip on Obi-Wan's arm, however, did not relent.

When they stopped finally, Obi-Wan cast a searching eye, looking for any sign or symbol that would inform him of where he was. To his dismay, he could find nothing noteworthy, and he was pushed in the back compartment of a private air car before long. Xanatos set the car on auto-pilot and retired to the bench seat across from the padawan. 

The car passed beyond the brilliant heart of the city, lights becoming more sporadic, until the conveyance was enshrouded within a mournful night and isolated in the deep wilds of a bucolic land. 

Obi-Wan remained silent throughout the flight, albeit uncomfortable with the former Jedi's darkly malevolent gaze staring through him. Obi-Wan saw bustling market squares give way to battered establishments; glittering canals turned to stagnant pools and dense vegetation. Finally purple fields stretched to the foot of sable mountain ranges under a medley of iridescent moons. 

The car stopped at the base of a sheer rock cliff that thrust up jaggedly from the ground. When they exited the vehicle, Obi-Wan gazed up at the daunting granite structure. Scattered copses of thick trees carpeted tier upon rock tier, winding around the cliff to the very top where a forbidding stone edifice stood seemingly aloof. It appeared to be just another part of the rock cliff, half-concealed by a circling gloomy mist. But upon closer scrutiny, perfectly ordered lights could be descried glowing softly out of windows. 

The atmosphere was still humid from the rain. Xanatos steered Obi-Wan up a steep, precarious pathway of rough-hewn stone steps smoothed by the passage of time and the working of the elements. Treacherously, it scaled up along the cliff face with no guardrail or any other safety precaution. Rain puddled darkly in depressions and uneven rock, slickening the stones and making slow their progress.

As Obi-Wan glimpsed the dark silhouettes of mountains hemming in his world, he wondered when he would taste freedom again.

Or if he ever would.

O  
  
_Bright light gleamed off of ivory tiles. Icy beneath Obi-Wan's bare feet, the tiny ceramic squares brought chill bumps to his skin. He felt cold. _

This whole place was cold.

He dropped the leather vest and trousers that he had been wearing for more days than he knew, their black color boldly contrasting the cool tiled floor, and thrust an upraised palm in the shooting water. It was delightfully hot.

He stepped underneath a hot jet spray, felt the liquid heat surging over his hair, sheeting his face, down his chest, his legs, warming his feet. 

He could almost imagine he was home. 

He picked up the bar of soap that smelled piquantly medicinal and worked up a lather. It was good to bathe again. Good to feel the warmth of clean water and smell of something that did not reek. 

A sinister unease crept through him. Despite any similarities to Dimisfree this was disturbingly different. Not that the time there had been free of trouble, but this time Qui-Gon did not know where he was. 

The steamy gush of soapy water felt invigorating and soothing to his senses as it swept over naked skin, taking days of built-up grime and filth down a silver drain nestled at the bottom of the shower stall. His gaze wandered to a thin towel waiting on the floor as he turned off the water.

He had been left him here. Locked in a meager room with an adjoining 'fresher. A small hospital-type cot, nondescript gray dresser, and a simple chair decorated the room. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he left the shower stall. But . . . 

He still felt cold.

After swiping across the frosted mirror, he gazed at his bleary self. His hands paused over the mapping of bruises over his body. His ribs had mostly healed by now, the binding having been removed just after he arrived here. It still hurt to breathe, however, and he had been given him nothing for the pain

His gaze roamed around the room. There were no windows.

No way out but the door.

He turned to the door, an open palm extended to trigger the release, and flinched back when the metal panel abruptly hissed open. A very tall, very alien looking character stood in the open doorway, almost menacing in his posture and aspect. 

If it was human at all Obi-Wan assumed it was of some mongrel breed. Sparse black hairs sprinkled the scalp of an elongated, malformed skull. Dark blotches mottled a rudimentary nose and around two yellow eyes - one larger and glassier than the other - pierced with crescent pupils. The smaller eye narrowed, fixing the padawan with a lopsided, menacing glare. 

Obi-Wan took an unconscious step backward before he remembered himself. He was a Jedi. "What do you want?" he ventured cautiously. A nervous tingle ran through his belly, but he refused to acknowledge it.

The man ignored the query and bent to pick up the leather garments Obi-Wan had left on the floor.

"Hey," the padawan barked, "those are my clothes."

Standing again, the man grunted incoherently through long thin lips and wadded the clothes-in-question into a ball that he tucked under an arm.

_"My. Clothes." Obi-Wan repeated distinctly, aggravation mounting. He pointed sharply to them, then to himself, hoping this was a simple communication problem._

_The man turned and stalked out of the 'fresher. Obi-Wan followed the tall figure closely, intent to not let this creature take the only thing he had to wear besides the towel wrapped around his hips. _

_"You will _not_ take my clothes. I have to wear them." Obi-Wan's frustration waxed as he realized that he had attempted the Jedi mind trick, forgetting that his Force access was blocked. He huffed, tightened his jaw. _

_At the door of the padawan's modest room, the man punched in a code, and the panel immediately slid open. He uttered some other unintelligible remark, one hand raised in a halting gesture and then lumbered out._

Obi-Wan lurched toward the open door and suddenly halted when a tall figure inserted itself in the way, its arms outstretched and palms lightly resting on doorjambs.

"Oh, come now, Obi-Wan," Xanatos admonished sarcastically. "A slave like you should know that nothing is 'yours'." 

Obi-Wan tried not to notice the insufferable smile that pulled at Xanatos' lips. The padawan crossed his arms in defiance.

"I'm glad to see you've already met Yulo. Saves me from having to introduce you," Xanatos chuckled, though no humor infused his voice. His deep cobalt eyes darted behind Obi-Wan, and Xanatos' smile frosted. "You'll find your new attire on the bedspread."

O

"I was there most of the time that I've been gone," Obi-Wan informed Qui-Gon, who sat quiet, growing ever more disturbed by the young man's story. "He tried to break me down, make me a true slave in mind as well as in everything else. He . . ." a ragged catch in his throat halted Obi-Wan's account, and when he could go on no further he sprang to his feet and charged to the wide windowsill.

Pressing both hands to the cold transparency, the young man leaned against its glassy smooth surface in desperate search for any support to keep him from collapsing to knees that shook. He closed his eyes, but the nightmare memory lingered unfading.

Qui-Gon saw the heaving shoulders, heard the uneven breaths. "Padawan," he said softly. Slow, measured steps brought him to stand behind Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon watched the pale young face mirrored in the window, laved in opal moonlight. There were no tears upon those cheeks. Only pain sculptured in soft, youthful strokes, midnight memories of a world gone horribly wrong.

"I tried to find the slave implant," Obi-Wan whispered with eyes closed still. "I would have done anything to escape and be myself again." His breathing steadied and he opened his eyes, now waxing misty. "It would not have been as bad had the consequences of my rebellion fallen solely upon myself," he said, guilt laced into his tone.

"The small boy, Tasten," Obi-Wan continued quietly. "I was allowed to spend time with him, I don't know why. I think the boy liked me . . . and I grew attached to him. . . . There was no other that showed me any kindness; Tasten was a lovely child, so sweet and thoughtful. But when Xanatos saw I felt for the boy he used him in attempts to make me conform. It was through the boy that Xanatos coerced me into calling him 'master'. But Xanatos knew simply conforming would not break me. He had to do something else, something that would reach inside me and that I would never forgive myself for letting happen." With that, Obi-Wan's shoulders slumped and he slid down the face of the window, crumbled to his knees, head bowed to rest against the sill.

Qui-Gon knelt beside him. But he felt useless; what ever could he do to heal this young man that he loved? The night fell darker still.

"I had begun to doubt . . . things," Obi-Wan murmured. "I remembered how you had relied so faithfully on the Force's guidance in Dimisfree, where I was tricked into selling myself into slavery there in order to get help for you," Obi-Wan paused. Suddenly he turned and looked straight into Qui-Gon's eyes, turned eyes shining with love on the Jedi master and Qui-Gon was stabbed by remorse, even guilt as the young man continued. "And I don't blame you at all for any of it. Not for anything at all."

Qui-Gon could not bear to meet that trusting gaze and peered away, past their faint mirrored reflections and into the sleepless traffic lanes.

"I don't blame you . . . Master," said Obi-Wan, using the title for the first time since his return. He slid a hand beneath the older man's chin and with gentle prodding brought Qui-Gon's eyes back to his.

There the moonlight sparkled in unfallen drops. They welled up as the dew of grief unspoken, and Qui-Gon willed them to vanish but in vain. His lips parted, in expectation of words, but the words did not come and he could do no more than stare shamefaced and heavyhearted into the innocent blue orbs of that pure bright soul.

Obi-Wan grasped Qui-Gon's hand and lightly squeezed. "And I don't blame the Force either." He looked down and shrugged helplessly. "I know I did . . . but there are things in this life that we will never understand. Who are we to question the workings of a greater power, as Yoda would say?" He fell into a calmer, more casual tone and leaned his shoulder against the window. "I have very vague and sketchy memories of the whole time I spent there. I was confused, on some experimental drug almost every day and when not, under such duress that I had never before experienced. And I had nightmares, awful nightmares every night, sometimes during the day. I think it was the drugs. Sometimes I think I was half out of my mind."

Qui-Gon listened, strangely drawn to the horror and the shock of so harrowing a five years. Five years endured by a loved one . . . .

OO OO OO

**TO ALL:** **Thank you all for reading along! It reminds me what I first loved about putting stories up here. It's very nourishing for all the writers here to know that someone is reading what they've written. Thank you! **

**Clover Brandybuck:** Glad you like my portrayal of Obi-Wan. :) Yes, he is starting to doubt, isn't he? Xanatos just showed up without my planning it, LOL! He has that forceful personality!

**Stranded Stargazer:** Nope, Xanatos just can't stay dead, LOL! :) Yes, Obi-Wan's trying to not think like a slave, but it's really hard not to do that in some circumstances.

**LuvEwan: **Evil Xanatos! I must admit I really enjoyed writing his sarcasm and the interaction with the slaver assistant. Who's the little boy? What little boy??? Just kidding!!!! ;)

**Fudge:** Glad you're pleased with Xanatos' presence. I really didn't intend on his showing up, but he insisted, LOL! And I'm so pleased you like my portrayal of him! He was such a different character for me to write and I enjoyed it very much! Thank you! :)

**Athena Leigh: **Simply being a slave isn't enough: Obi-Wan has to have an evil antagonist and Xanatos just sort of took the job without asking, LOL! I think he's the most forceful personality I've ever written!

**CYNICAL21: **Yes, it has been a long time! I'm glad you like my Obi-Wan portrayal, especially since I tried to capture both aspects you mentioned: strength and vulnerability! Oh, and Xanatos . . . He just showed up uninvited and demanded a part, LOL! :) I don't go to that other place anymore either, except to check on PM's. I have my own reasons that I won't bore you with. And I'd like to get caught up in your stories, and some others'. I think all of yours are here now, if I'm not mistaken.

**Shanobi:** Obi-Wan's had a hard five years. I thought he should feel odd being back home. . . . I _knew _you'd enjoy Xanatos showing up! :) I really didn't plan for him to, but he insisted, LOL! This story is done, but I've been making a few minor changes as I upload, things I think of that will hopefully improve it.... I must get caught up on your story! I haven't forgotten!!! :) It's nice to be posting again, but I think this will be my last story on the 'net. I don't know, it just seems to take up a lot of time that I could be doing something else, and I feel enslaved (which is appropriate to this story, LOL!) to the computer, like I have to be on it even if I don't want to. I don't know if that makes any sense, but, oh well... :)

**Sheila:** Lucky day for Xanatos! It wasn't only a surprise for Obi-Wan that the former Jedi showed up there, but for me too! :)

**KrystalBlaze** **- Jerikor:** Bingo! That's why Obi-Wan's there! ;) Glad you like the addition of Xanatos. Oh, I love your enthusiasm!!! And thanks for the welcome back! :)


	5. Spindle V

The first scene of this chapter may be PG-13, for a little blood. I don't think it's too graphic, but I just want to let you know. :)

SPINDLE OF FATE

by Cascadia

See Chapter One for notes, disclaimer, etc.

Reviewer replies are located at the end of the chapter.

OO OO OO

CHAPTER FIVE

The crash was exquisite. Too loud, beyond doubt, but there could be no reversal now. The ruins of the broken drinking vessel lay strewn across the floor like Alderaani diamonds glittering under a waterfall of light. Obi-Wan gazed upon the array of vitreous shards, his satisfaction mounting, his dusty blue eyes quickly examining each, searching for the one perfect in both size and finely-edged texture.

His gaze darted nervously to the door, then back to the newly created collection of glass. They would be coming soon; he had to be quick.

A slender fragment that curved to a distinct point was hastily snatched up and plunged deep into the tender flesh of his forearm. The dam broke, crimson rivulets streamed from the fresh wound, and pain bloomed.

He cried out from the pain. It hurt immensely, but he was determined to keep silent. He clamped down on his voice, gritting his teeth, keeping in every sound that gave utterance to the self-inflicted torture.

It had to be somewhere, he knew it did. He would search his whole body eventually. They could not stop him, unless they perpetually strapped him down, and in all this time they had never resorted to such a drastic measure. He searched fruitlessly through the gushing river of red, with trembling fingers that dug along the long puncture. It yielded nothing but blood.

Living droplets fell. A sticky red pool expanded where his knees touched the floor. Warm liquid seeped through the slate linen covering his legs, and his hands shook as the sheer reality of what he was doing sharpened as a razor in his mind.

He felt faint, slightly dazed by the immediate loss of blood. Slowly, his gaze rose and drifted about the room now touched by the shades of palest dawn. Yet the world around him quickly smudged into smoky fuzz, and sound grew muffled and dull. There was a deadened clattering, an eruption of voices too distant to be discerned.

They were coming.

He rested his head on one hand, the lacerated arm hanging loosely to his side as he hurriedly assessed his options. As his lightheadedness abated to some extent, he found a delicate thread of lucidity.

It would surely have turned up had it been there along the muscle of his forearm. Seconds quickly expired, then in they came, past the door that scarcely ground out of the way before three of them bounded in to halt his foolish attempts again.

He leapt up. Tiny pieces crunched under his bare feet, splitting open a multitude of cuts across naked skin as he scurried over a glass-littered floor to a barred window. He was beside the window before he realized his only weapon was forgotten on the floor in the midst of the darkly glistening crimson pool. No time to return for it now.

Light caressed his face in leaden morning rays when he grasped the unyielding bars. He was desperate for escape; it had eluded him too many times. But even as he lifted himself up to the view of the wide valley, there were hands latching onto him and dragging him back downward. The bars waxed slippery in his blood-covered hands; they slid free of his hold, and down he tumbled to a cold tile floor.

He felt a sting prick his neck; hands seized him, immobilized his struggles, and dragged him to his bed, where he was flung down on the slim mattress. His breath slammed out of him from the impact. He fought for breath and stared at the ceiling, which was embellished with moldy stains. Never had he noticed the quintpartite shape that uniquely resembled his temple home on Coruscant. The illusion was insufferable. Agonizing. He squeezed his eyes shut to escape the pain caused by that faraway memory.

"You gave him a glass cup," an imperative voice accused.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I forgot." Humbly contrite.

"Make sure you don't forget next time. He's only to be given metal, do you understand?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Of course, Ma'am."

Someone began bandaging his wounded arm. He fought them no more. Soon the anesthetic would take his consciousness, would take his fearful worries and put them to bed for awhile.

For awhile. And then -

Then he would face another day.

O

Where Obi-Wan lay he could survey thick fog beyond his barred window. Time had progressed to a deepening night, where only faint moonlight penetrated the heavy mists here and there as pearlized silver.

He shifted slightly, twisting uncomfortably in his straps, and glanced at the doctor just entering his meager room.

"How is my patient today?" the human woman asked, intolerably cheerful. A single tight braid of dark brunette hair wound around her scalp.

Obi-Wan turned away to scowl at the wall, and strained at the wide, black elasticized straps that efficiently secured him at wrist, ankle, and chest to his bed.

"In a sour mood, dear?" She advanced to the bedside and threaded an impersonal hand through mussed russet strands of Obi-Wan's hair and down along the woven braid. "Getting a little long again. Have to have another haircut soon." Her hand withdrew while brandy eyes thoughtfully studied his profile. "You know how much Mr. Crionti likes you looking like a Jedi padawan. Braid and all."

Obi-Wan's jaw tightened; his fists clenched. He dearly wished to be left alone, to not be reminded -

"He missed you today," she continued, unaware of the turmoil inside the young man. "I think Tasten missed you too; I saw him crying."

Obi-Wan's fiery blue eyes flew to meet her calm gaze. "He had better not have hurt him." Obi-Wan's voice quavered with anger.

She blinked, unperturbed by the apparent threat. "If you hadn't done that foolish thing this morning you wouldn't have had to spend the day in a bacta bath."

Obi-Wan looked away, knowing she was right in her accusation, knowing the boy may have suffered for it. Anger diminished, and he felt the persistent ache in his heart swell. His desperation to escape incited much imprudence on his part. And he was not the only one to pay for his recklessness.

The entire episode that morning shimmered like a delirious dream to him now. Or more like a small component of an endless nightmare that he had been clambering through for too long -

Much too long.

As soon as he had seen that cup of glass every cell of his being had screamed to act - immediately. Though why he had flown to the window remained a mystery. Perhaps too many hours spent gazing out at that pristine expanse had planted a phantom hope of freedom in his weary mind. Else he was going mad.

"Mr. Crionti wants to see you tomorrow," she informed. "Perhaps he'll dish out some punishment for your disobedience. I hope you're up to it."

And if he wasn't?

Obi-Wan jerked against his restraints.

O

He walked carefully among moist shadows, earth squishing lightly underfoot the only sound that fractured the haunting silence of the deep wood. Foliaged tree limbs confronted his path. They stretched out to grasp at him, something told him, in warning.

But he went on. What else could he do? Where he was, he knew not. Nor where he was going -

"Obi-Wan!" a voice fiercely whispered.

Somewhere close. Somewhere nearby.

His mild hesitation elapsed, and he advanced on through the gloom-painted wild. Alone.

Trees parted, and he suddenly confronted a deadened pool, stagnant and reeking in the embrace of slick gray trees that bent over to caress its greasy surface in an anemic splash of sunlight.

He held his breath and twisted a glance back the way he had come. The path lay in somber hues too dark for eyes to penetrate. He looked to the pool again, green and covered in festering decay.

"Obi-Wan!" The voice beckoned.

He registered his heart hammering, his pulse increased, but he felt compelled to continue, to search for -

What?

"Obi-Wan!"

He jumped in alarm, for a feathery touch tingled along his nerves. The summoning inexplicably had substance neither defined nor visible. Yet it seemed to touch as it spoke to his very soul.

"The death of this pool is so symbolic of your own death as a Jedi. You will never again be as one again. Never."

He clamped down on his mental barriers on impulse. Keep the voice out, keep it away. It was lying, like it always did.

His eyes widened frantically, roaming over his surroundings. The trees stood still, nary leaf nor insect moved. By all accounts he was alone. There was no one. Nothing. Nothing but -

The pool abruptly turned sickly gray, and began drying and dissolving even as he surveyed it. He stood paralyzed for scarcely a moment, eyes large and horrified, watching the slime shrivel up on itself, then he backed away an unconscious step.

A laugh intruded, bearing an eerie chill that touched him where nothing could reach, where nothing should_ reach, into the most vulnerable parts of his awareness. He realized that it sounded familiar - the voice, the laugh - in a very upsetting, very unsettling way._

His breath caught in the penetrating coldness, and when the laugh repeated -

He ran.

Back the way he had come. Away from the stagnant pool. Away from Xanatos' mocking laugh. He tripped over upraised roots, felt the stinging slap of reaching limbs, and he was soon drowned in a murky ocean as his world slipped into the deepest dimness of an autumn night.

"Oh, Obi-Wan! You really are a coward, aren't you?"

Obi-Wan could see nothing. On he ran, but the voice relentlessly followed, rumbling throughout his surroundings, remaining stubbornly inside his head.

"It's truly no wonder Mighty Master Jinn didn't want you. He wasn't completely blind, you know? Not completely. Only when he wanted to be."

A formless void of the blackest pitch rose before him, and he crashed into a rock-hard solidity that sent him sprawling backward to the damp soil. Light utterly died. And when corporeal hands touched him, he screamed -

"Why does he have to do that?"

"It's the drugs, or a nightmare, or some other unsavory thing. Do I always need explain everything to you?"

The voices edged into his awareness. Distant at first, but shifting to a distinct clarity that could not be ignored. He suddenly realized - with a certain degree of mixed emotion - that he had been dreaming. The nightmare was over, but the nightmare that was his true life was simply continuing. Never-ending.

"No, but -"

"Then help me to get these straps off him," the first woman said. "Mr. Crionti wants to see him. Come on."

Obi-Wan's heart was still pumping rapidly from the frightening dream, and now he felt his stomach nervously twisting up. Facing Mr. Crionti - as they called Xanatos - lately had that effect on him. His eyes cracked open to regard the two women bent over him, loosening the restraints, and behind them hulked Yulo with an eager set of manacles dangling from his large hands.

The elder woman noticed his wakefulness and paused. "Ready to see Mr. Crionti?" Her tone was unbearably cheerful.

Obi-Wan shook his head.

O

"Xanatos eventually grew tired of the game, I suppose. He was in control, but I was not letting him win." Obi-Wan stood and walked a few paces away, his back confronting Qui-Gon.

There was a deepening of silence and perfect stillness in the room, almost a foreboding of ill fortune, that Qui-Gon felt afraid to move and could not until Obi-Wan spoke again.

"He . . . killed the boy." Obi-Wan's voice wavered, trembled like an autumn tree's last leaf harassed by cold wind.

Qui-Gon's throat went dry. He watched Obi-Wan, eager for more, for something beyond that disturbing disclosure, but the young man remained stock-still and quiet as a forgotten twilight.

Without another word, Obi-Wan trod purposefully away, withdrawing down the hall.

After a measure of heavy heartbeats, Qui-Gon rose and followed. Not only was he puzzled by the young man's sudden departure but worried over his emotional state as well.

He heard Obi-Wan before he found him in the 'fresher, bent over the toilet rim, heaving heavily, face ashen and covered in a sheen of mingled tears and perspiration. Qui-Gon lent his two strong arms for assistance, wrapped them round the smaller man until he had emptied his stomach and swayed feverish with insides sore.

Qui-Gon gently laid Obi-Wan on the floor, cradling his head and humming a sweet melody of unremembered origin. The tune passed out of memory and he continued on repeating it in a continuous loop.

Obi-Wan kept his eyes sealed tightly, mind latched onto that drifting song and thought he heard the music of the Force in gentle, trembling strings, ebbing out and flowing in again; a song strong yet delicately fragile. He opened his eyes to focus on the aging face above him.

Qui-Gon's eyes were closed, locked away in another place.

Obi-Wan stretched a wavering hand up to caress the softly bearded jaw and smiled when Qui-Gon opened his eyes. "Thank you," Obi-Wan said softly when the music slipped away.

Tears surfaced in the Jedi master's eyes, and he attempted a smile that failed and only brought tears to Obi-Wan's eyes.

Obi-Wan struggled to sit up, helped by Qui-Gon's strength, and then hugged himself insecurely. "It's not . . . just the boy's . . . passing. It's . . . it's a lingering effect of the drugs." He pulled more into himself. "Sometimes I feel nauseated . . . . Like this."

Qui-Gon snaked a hand to Obi-Wan's back and rubbed tenderly, his love needing an outlet. They sat quietly, in companionable silence, as Obi-Wan battled back the charges of nausea until they settled into calm seas.

"I still remember," Obi-Wan said, resuming his story, "the day . . ." he sniffed and looked away, fighting to not lose control and weep uncontrollably. "The day we buried Tasten. . . ."

OO OO OO

Sheila: Yes, Obi-Wan's had a horrible time. Thanks! Glad you like! :)

Fudge: I guess that's what makes Obi-Wan such a popular character. Sometimes, as a writer, I just write what I think a character would do without analyzing how to get across a specific aspect of that character. When I _do_ present something spcific like that I'm always surprised, LOL! Thanks for letting me know!!! :)

shadow warrior: Thank you so much! :) Hope you enjoy!!!

Athena Leigh: I love writing (or reading) descriptions. I'm glad you liked the clothes scene; it was just a strange little idea I had, so I'm relieved it didn't take away from the rest of the chapter. Thanks! :)

Clover Brandybuck: It's okay now. I've got Xanatos locked in my cellar closet. ;) And thank you for the review for 'Breath of Night'! Go on, give Obi a big hug! :)

LuvEwan: I enjoyed making the moments between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, their conversations and actions-reactions. And I have a love for writing descriptions! Just have to keep myself focused on the story, LOL!

Antigone: Thank you for your comments on BON. I'm glad you liked the subtlety of Obi-Wan's reactions, etc. It's too easy sometimes to let go and leap into melodrama, or to let it all fall flat…. I'm happy you found this! :) What is Qui-Gon hiding??? Oh, you think Qui knows something he's not saying, huh? Well, I can't say either. ;)

Pokey1984: I'm thrilled you like the Chapter One addition. It was just for you! :) And don't worry about having nothing constructive to say! Just so you're having fun reading, I'll be satisfied. Hope you have fun with your family visitors. :)

Aneiki-Rose1: Welcome! I like Qui-Gon and try to portray him as I see him. Glad you like my interpretation of him!!! :)


	6. Spindle VI

****

SPINDLE OF FATE

by Cascadia

See Chapter One for notes, disclaimer, etc.

****

Reviewer replies are located at the end of the chapter.

OO OO OO

CHAPTER SIX

__

Lightning embers sparked at the far rim of the mountains, their short quick violence glancing white against heaven's gray backcloth. Day was near an end, and those gathered beneath the stormy skies stood solemn, eyes downcast and transfixed upon a small mound of earth.

"Dust whence we came . . . to dust shall we return." Xanatos' voice carried clear across the courtyard, though he spoke with hushed breaths.

Obi-Wan knelt just to his side, Yulo looming behind him, others – nurses, doctors, and sundry workers – crowding near. A man with a shovel in his hands stepped back from the mound, having just covered the child's coffin with earth, and brushed his nose with a dirt covered hand.

Xanatos gave an aggravated sniff and took a deep swig from the bottle he held. "Day is done," he declared as he raised the glass bottle overhead in salute to the coming storm. He was drunk.

The others seemed to take this as a dismissal and drifted away until only Obi-Wan, Yulo, and Xanatos remained.

"Why?" Obi-Wan said, as the departing footsteps dimmed. His voice was soft in his sorrow and he felt sick inside, enraged and broken by a conflicting war of emotion. "Why did you do it?"

"Someone had to pay for your endless . . . endless disobedience," Xanatos slurred. He staggered over to a low railing that ran along the edge of a promontory, its steep drop falling away to a perilous distance.

"Why couldn't it have been me?" Obi-Wan softly asked, but he knew it was all futile, the fight already lost. "The boy was innocent."

"What is life?" the failed Jedi inquired of the dark cloud rack. "What is hope?" He took another long draw from his bottle, the golden liquid sloshing, and then cradled it to his chest. "What is . . . anything_ once we've tasted the bitterness of failure?" He twisted around, swaying as he did so, to face Obi-Wan. "Tell me, Obi-Wan."_

Obi-Wan refused to look at him. He disliked the man – almost hated him – but had never seen him so helpless in his debauchery.

"Come, come, come, old padawan. Tell the young master where he's failed." Xanatos heaved a deep sigh and turned back to the fast approaching storm. The wind blew his black locks away from his face.

Obi-Wan raised his grief-stricken eyes. His posture was slumped and hopeless. There were no words of comfort. Nothing to balm the pain for either of them. He searched for something to say and found nothing.

Xanatos stretched out a hand to test for raindrops. "You're too old to fail, young padawan. And I'm too young to care." He barked a cynical laugh and peered back at Obi-Wan, who blinked back his tears. "Just like me and Qui-" he faltered, voice gently breaking.

He drew his arm back and pitched the bottle over the rail, its crash distant as glass exploded on jagged rock far below. He staggered as he released it, and for one thrilling second Obi-Wan thought – even hoped – Xanatos would follow after the bottle.

"Qui-Gon cared for you," Obi-Wan said, his voice husked by grief. He found his thoughts clearing when fat drops of rain plopped atop his head.

"He," Xanatos started, "he cared for himself_!" The former Jedi wheeled around, legs becoming entangled, and he fell to the ground._

"It was you," Obi-Wan said, standing, shoulders braced confrontationally. "You were the problem-"

"What do you know about problems?" Xanatos demanded. He pushed himself to his knees and glared, eyes darkening with angry hurt.

"What do you know about children?" Obi-Wan wondered if he pushed too far, but his own sorrow drove him with reckless disregard.

Xanatos stood up, unsteady and holding onto the rail for support. He looked from Obi-Wan to Yulo and back to the padawan again. "What do I know about children?" he repeated, his tone waxing cynical again. A flicker of insanity glazed his eyes.

Obi-Wan continued to glare at him and crossed his arms.

Xanatos chuckled skeptically. "Good question, young padawan. Good question." His breathing grew ragged as clouds opened up and rain suddenly poured on them. "Tasten was my," his voice fell to a whisper, ". . . my son. . . . I'm a failure in everything, you see. In everything."

In his shock, Obi-Wan froze even as Xanatos came up to him and clumsily pushed the padawan back. Unprepared, Obi-Wan landed sprawling across the upraised mound. With a quick hiss, Xanatos drew out a knife, its slender blade as long as his forearm. The rain slid like tears down the shiny silver metal.

Obi-Wan thought the failed Jedi was going to slay him right there, atop the fresh mound of rich, damp earth. And he welcomed it after all his misery.

In one swift movement, Xanatos grasped Obi-Wan's padawan braid, jerked it painfully out, and severed the woven lock from Obi-Wan's head. "Now we're both failures," Xanatos announced in a strangely calm voice and stalked away, leaving Yulo alone to watch over the padawan.

Obi-Wan levered himself up and checked to make sure his ear remained intact. He drew his fingers away to find a small trace of blood that was just as soon washed away by the weeping rain.

O

The room remained locked in quiet. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon both passed several shocked seconds in silence.

"I think," Obi-Wan had to clear his throat, "I think he was as broken as I was after that. Perhaps more. . . . It wasn't long until he sold me." He stared at his hands, fingers fidgeting.

Qui-Gon released a huge sigh. "I never would have imagined him with a son. Are you sure the boy was his?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan nodded again. "I guess. . . . I don't think he was lying. Despite his moral failings. He never said who the mother was, and I don't think the boy ever knew who either parent was." He turned a blank gaze to the tiled wall. "Tasten always called him 'Master'." Obi-Wan shifted to a more comfortable position and resumed his story. "When the right opportunity came up, Xanatos sold me to some place where I had to work almost nonstop in a hot field. . . ."

O

__

Under a blazing sun, he felt woozy as sweat rolled down him. The heat was unbearable. He staggered under its bold fire, was then caught by rough hands when he fell, hands grappling to hold him, hoisted him over a broad shoulder. He was upturned; the smell of dirt filled his nostrils just as it filled the air; a swarm of pesky flies buzzed around him. A bare moment before everything dissolved to gray, he briefly glimpsed a bright sun-emblazoned ground.

His stomach roiled with anticipation. What was in store for him this time? He had tried to keep going, tried to stay on his feet, but the sun seared unbearably hot and he had not eaten since yesterday's firstmeal - and that, only a small bowl of thin soup. Surely they could not blame him this time.

While he faded in and out, he could hear the raucous voices he had grown accustomed to, and would have shuddered had he been able. To his relief, he discovered that he was taken inside a shelter, for the air felt cool and wafted gently across his face like the soft caress of a Caganor summer gale. Such a pleasant memory twisted painfully in his chest, the anguish of what once was, too overwhelming to remember.

He moaned when someone abruptly dumped him on a lumpy cot. Rough treatment was expected here, but he never got used to it. In an effort to ignore whatever had been planned for him, he kept his eyes clamped shut and concentrated on the shallow bursts of his breath. It was thankfully easier to breathe in here, away from the heat of day. But that was usually the only advantage of such an unexpected visit.

"Bring a thing of water," a husky voice hovering above him ordered.

A waterlogged rag swept across his sweaty dirt-encrusted brow, down his cheeks, and along his jawline and neck; the icy liquid dripped down the febrile skin of his neck and soaked into the mattress below him, seeming to wrap him a blanket of refreshing coldness. He pressed back into the mattress, immensely comforted by the change in temperature until he started to shiver. The rag was pulled away and quickly replaced by a clean towel that blotted him dry.

"Relax, boy," uttered the voice. "You be feelin' better enough soon."

He shivered all the more at that, crying out in a raspy voice when hands pulled him up. He refused to open his eyes still as he sat on that cool mattress.

"This is the one?" a voice asked. "You sure you want him? He ain't been much help here. Can't bear the heat."

O

"That man bought me," Obi-Wan said. "The same man who brought me back here. He took me some place where they removed the slave implant and the Force-inhibiting collar, and then we came here." He exhaled, relief fluttering throughout him, and bent his head to rest in his hands. "I'm so tired."

"Would you like," Qui-Gon said, "to change into other clothes? Some of your old clothes?" He smiled at the brightening that came over Obi-Wan, and they betook themselves to the padawan's old bedroom.

An odd fear washed through Obi-Wan as he stepped through the threshold and into the room where he had lived for many years. He clasped hands that inclined to shake and cursed the heart hammering nervously. This was his room; he should feel at home, at peace.

Familiar pictures of exotic lands hung where memory had dictated, and the same furniture in the same arrangement stood as he remembered.

"You kept everything," Obi-Wan nearly whispered, awestruck, "just as I left it."

"I knew you would come home," said Qui-Gon from behind him.

Obi-Wan rushed to the wardrobe, threw open the doors. "And all my clothes . . ." He gave a half-hug to Qui-Gon. "Thank you!" He quickly drew out an old faded pullover and matching loose pants.

Qui-Gon left then and returned to the main room while Obi-Wan slipped the soft coverings on and approached a floor length mirror.

There was the once familiar padawan but older, hair a bit too long for a pupil's cut, no padawan braid, but the same person nonetheless. As he stared at his reflection a recurrent fear crept into his thoughts again. Those large blue eyes were haunted and swirling with troubling shadows, gnawing doubts that seldom left his tortured mind.

With a despairing gasp Obi-Wan speed from the mirror and wambled back to the main room where his trembling increased to visibility.

Qui-Gon looked up at Obi-Wan's entrance and beheld the clearly distressed young man. "Obi-Wan? What . . ." He rushed to the young man, steadied and steered him to the sofa where they sat. "What is the matter, Padawan?"

Before he could reply Obi-Wan had to slow his quick, shallow breaths. He had to calm himself!

"Please," Qui-Gon implored, "what is it?" He slid his hands up and down the young man's arms, rubbing with a tenderness born of worry, until Obi-Wan waxed less tense and his breathing more normal.

Obi-Wan shook his head once, miserably, and looked away. "I can't . . ."

A frown furrowed Qui-Gon's brow. "Can't what?" He waited patiently for an answer.

"I can't," Obi-Wan repeated. "I can't be like I was." He sagged against the other man. "A padawan. I can't be one."

A long and difficult silence enveloped them until Obi-Wan spoke again. "You know it's been too long. I'm too old to learn what I've missed and become a knight . . . . It's been too long."

"You don't know that," Qui-Gon protested gruffly. "There are padawans that train for many, many years before attaining knighthood. It's just a matter of determination. I'm sure you can still do it." He tilted Obi-Wan's pale chin upward to look in his eyes. "I know you can," he whispered.

Obi-Wan blinked rapidly, his feelings telling him Qui-Gon was wrong, but his heart grasping desperately onto those encouraging words. He tried to smile. "Perhaps," he admitted softly, "but . . . you have to help me." He held his breath as he witnessed the uncertain pause and the quivering doubt in the Jedi master's aspect. He could still read the man.

"Now Obi-Wan," began the Jedi master.

"What?" Obi-Wan's voice tinged with a wounded edge. "What?!" A sudden wildness commingled of unhinged and frantic despair. "What? Tell me!" He was breathing in short, shallow gasps, shuddering in dread for fear that his dream - the thing that had kept him from losing himself throughout those five tormenting years - stood on a cliff's edge, poised to fall to its death.

"Please, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon begged, his expression wounded. "Let me explain."

Obi-Wan simply stared, transfixed, as his mind reeled in turmoil and whirling confusion. He could not accept refusal. He could not!

Qui-Gon took a deep, painful breath. "It started just after you disappeared . . . ."

O

__

When the pale gates of first light appeared in the sky, Qui-Gon was more than ready to rise from bed. Soft slivers of morning poured across his face, trailing from a slatted window like long fingers stretching to part his lashes and reveal the red-veined eyes that dwelt beneath. Pushing the sheets aside, he slowly rose and proceeded to begin another day without Obi-Wan.

The warm cascade of water from his ablutions refreshed him, wakened him slightly, though he had lain awake for hours it seemed as the night crept past in timeless infinity. After dressing fully, he left the 'fresher, binding his damp hair in a silver clasp as he walked to the kitchenette, then turned on a burner to heat a kettle of water for tea. There he stood still, eyes mesmerized by the tiny blue flames that danced about the bottom of the kettle until its shrill call rent the silence.

Movements mechanical, he sluiced hot water into a mug and sprinkled the fine powder of liuna spice tea in the steaming water while he softly hummed an old Alderaani aria. The common room would be the most comfortable place to sit. He placed the kettle back down with a dull clack, entered the adjoining room, and sank into the plush cushions of the long couch. His large hands cradled the ceramic mug; he savored its heated surface and clung to its familiarity like a child lost in the depths of Coruscant's lower levels clung to his hopes of staying alive.

Constantly, his thoughts turned to Obi-Wan. How long had the padawan been missing now? Another day had faded into the past with no word on his padawan, another sun had set. Somewhat out of fear he had not allowed himself to count the days. For once he started down that path, there would be no return. He had felt confident that he had correctly handled the entire situation in Dimisfree, that he had heard the Force's quiet voice speaking into his mind. But now . . .

He was unsure.

In fact, he felt he had made a terrible blunder, and that Obi-Wan's sweet radiance would forever haunt him. Each memory remained a sparkling thread in the rich tapestry of the years they had shared together. But there was no hope in remembrance. Just a closed set of memories that, in time, would fade out of thought.

He took several slow, deep breaths. Emotions could not rule him. He should meditate. Then afterward, he could resume his search through records for any possible mention of the name Veschith - supposedly the name of the slaver who had taken Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon placed his mug aside and knelt in the middle of the room so that he faced the transparent terrace doors where the palest light waxed behind darkly silhouetted towers. Closing his eyes, he sat still as possible, and reached out for the Force.

In his mind, the patterns of living essence formed faintly, radiating out of everything, stretching and growing into white incandescence too blindingly bright. This was life, flowing through him and invigorating him like the oxygen he freely breathed. He relished its presence, passed among its welcoming translucence and was bathed by its transforming life. All this and more were available to guide him and comfort him, as he now sought. At once, loving energy seemed to transcend him to overflowing.

Just as he started to relax into it and let go of himself, the dazzling sources flickered, some disintegrating into shimmering dust, now gold, now copper. A series of flickerings followed, Qui-Gon in shock. This had never happened before.

Near panic, he waited and watched the radiance abruptly reassert itself and rise to its usual stable glow and vitality. All appeared normal now - the light, the precious flow of life, the loving presence that washed away all his doubts and fears.

He remained immersed in its glory for hours, never experiencing any further problems, though a question beckoned in the back of his mind. By the time he resurfaced, Qui-Gon felt refreshed in mind and spirit and body, his focus the clearest it had been in some time, and his faith strengthened - where it should be. Sapphire eyes shone with their usual vigor. It was the longest he had meditated since he had lost Obi-Wan. And he had desperately needed it.

But that brief faltering of breathing light left him perplexed - and not a little concerned. Perhaps he should ask Master Yoda. The old troll, as his former padawan Xanatos had often called him, held a vast knowledge of the Force that probably far surpassed any other Jedi in their entire history - even in the Order's vaunted days of yore.

Qui-Gon stood. The barest swell of dizziness swirled through him, but before he rested his weight against the couch's arm the vertigo was gone. Infinitesimal enough that he could have imagined it.

His eyes flew to the hanging wall chrono, its soft white light mutely blinking off seconds. Almost noon. Yoda should be making rounds in the training salles. Without further delay, he headed directly there.

He found the salles crowded. Padawans, initiates, knights, and masters mingled together in no apparent orderly manner. Shouts, screams, and general chatter filled the air with a constant clamor. It was pure chaos. Sweeping his gaze over the scene, he descried the short, green-skinned master amidst several small children. Carefully, he wound his way through the moving bodies, making as straight a line as he could toward the elderly master.

"Master Yoda," Qui-Gon began, a mere ten feet from Yoda. He blinked and hesitated when the large citrus eyes regarded him with wide-eyed alarm.

"Qui -"

He fell hard to the floor, a pain in his shoulder and a heavy weight on top of him.

"Master Jinn!" a youthful voice rang out from above.

Qui-Gon struggled to sit up, a bit dazed.

"I'm so sorry, Master."

Hands were fumbling around him, helping him up. Qui-Gon looked up to see Garen staring at him with a worried expression.

"Are you hurt? Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry." Garen went on in that penitent tone.

Slowly, Qui-Gon stood, rubbing his aching shoulder. Nothing serious, he was sure. "I'm fine, Garen."

"But you . . . But I -"

"I'm fine." Qui-Gon gave the padawan his sincerest smile. "But might I ask just what you were doing?"

Garen flushed, but did not look away. "I was in the fourth section of the 20th kata, Master. Just coming out of a triple backflip." The dark-brown haired padawan wiped a hand across his brow, sweat darkening his clothes. His breathing was rapid from the intensity of his workout.

Qui-Gon bobbed a small nod. "Just coming out of a . . .?"

"Yes, Master Jinn." Garen's concerned expression left the youthful face, but his dark eyes remained enlarged.

Qui-Gon turned to Yoda as he approached.

"Your fault, it was not," said Yoda to Garen, who bowed and left after both masters fell silent.

Yoda's heavy-lidded gaze drifted to Qui-Gon. "Looking, you were, for me? When next time you walk through salles, remember to look where you go, hmm?" With his gimer stick he poked the taller Jedi for effect.

Qui-Gon felt chastised, though the large citrus eyes sparkled with amusement. True, he should have known Garen was there, should have sensed him, should have been warned through the Force . . . But he had not. His smile disappeared at that disconcerting thought.

"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon quietly admitted. "I have need of your wisdom. Is there some place private we can talk." He made a show of glancing at the crowds.

The little green head inclined. "Of course, Qui-Gon. Follow me, you will."

OO OO OO

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Qui-Gon's story will _not _take as long as Obi-Wan's. In fact the next part is _the last part of this fic_. Then, _POOF!_ I'll be gone. :) This fic was crafted from what was going to be a much longer story, but since I knew I was never going to finish it (because my interest lies elsewhere) I salvaged what I could and made it into this, to tie up the loose ends that 'Breath of Night' left and since I can't stand to leave anything unfinished. I want to thank all those willing to waste their time on my little swansong for reading along. :) The last part will be posted in about two days!

Also, I just want to mention that 'Crionti' as Xanatos' surname is my own invention as far as I know, and that I'd prefer no one else use it unless asking first. And of course the original characters (Tasten, Yulo, etc.) are mine as well. **:)**

Fudge: Thank you! Yes, Obi-Wan has been deeply hurt by the boy's death. And the moment when Qui-Gon tried to comfort Obi-Wan was fun to write! Thank you for your frequent reviews!!! :)

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LuvEwan: Oh, thank you!! :) I'd never considered whether this was formulaic or not, so I'm thrilled that you say it's not and that there are plenty of surprises. I do try to make each story different in some way. And I do chose my words very carefully, and especially in this story I let the words flow more naturally than some of most recent attempts. Thanks for your frequent reviews!!! :)

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Athena Leigh: Thank you!! I wasn't sure if the structure(of flashbacks intercut with present) would work very well with readers, so I'm glad you like it!! Thank you for your frequent reviews!!!! :)

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Clover Brandybuck: Poor Obi, we do say that a lot, don't we? ;) Thank you for the frequent reviews, and also for the review of 'Hiding Master Sariel'. I'm glad you enjoyed my humor fic!! I think it's a product of watching too many screwball comedies, LOL!!!! :)

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Sheila: If you had any hope for a nice Xanatos, it's probably gone now, huh?? Well, he _is_ the antagonist in this fic, and this is how I see the character. I know it's probably quite a shock if you've read a lot of 'good Xan' fics. I think his arrogance has made him blind to what he's really doing ... until too late. This part should give him a little more depth, but it's a short story so I didn't try to develope him much. Thanks for your frequent reviews!!!! :)


	7. Spindle VII

**SPINDLE OF FATE**

by Cascadia

See Chapter One for notes, disclaimer, etc.

Reviewer replies are located at the end of the chapter.

OO OO OO

CHAPTER SEVEN

_From a softly hushed fall of water, gentle mist drifted through the air, refreshing as it lit upon Qui-Gon's skin, evaporating almost at touch. The sound was soothing and hypnotic to his ears. He glanced up to the pellucid liquid in the midst of surrounding lush vegetation, droplets coruscating like ice crystals under gentle light._

_Yet Qui-Gon remained disturbingly silent. His face was drawn taut, revealing the tenseness that he fought to conceal. As he sat on a stone bench in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, he rubbed his sweaty palms lightly against his thighs, listening to Master Yoda, who hobbled back and forth before him, pausing periodically to blink at him with those wisdom-filled large eyes, then resume his restless pacing._

_He had told Yoda of the bizarreness of his last meditation. What had it meant? Was it anything to worry about? The elder master had then launched into an essay on esoteric mystic encounters that had been experienced by Jedi in past ages. Most, bordering on the preternatural, he had never heard._

_Almost of their own accord, Qui-Gon's gaze strayed to a tall thiony tree in the distance, almost lost behind a thick banushta bush. Under that striped-barked tree, Obi-Wan had often spent hours, deep in meditation or serious thought._

_For a frantic heartbeat, he thought he saw the sunkissed fire of Obi-Wan's hair, head bowed in humble submission, hands resting in meditation. A mild ache bloomed in Qui-Gon's chest. Forcing himself to look away, Qui-Gon stared into a multi-tiered pool, but even there the tree gazed up at him, a spectral reflection that tore at his heart._

_". . . an appointment with healers, I advise. No," Yoda shook his head, long ears pricking up slightly, "I order! Go at once, you will."_

_Qui-Gon opened his mouth to protest._

_"Defy me, you will not, Qui-Gon. Serious, this matter could be." Yoda's lips twisted obstinately, eyes grew sharp._

_A smile spread across Qui-Gon's face, to think that the little master had often accused him of being the most stubborn Jedi at the Temple - a fact that he himself concurred with, to some extent. Yet he had not felt his confident-self recently. Perhaps he should see a healer. He had not been completely opposed to the idea, but something with the idea that he could be ill trampled his desire to consent to their tests._

_Yoda blinked slowly at him. "Healer Maolin, I suggest."_

_Qui-Gon only nodded._

_Those big eyes widened in mild surprise. "Make an appointment immediately, I will, for you to see her."_

_"Yes, Master." Qui-Gon exhaled slowly, then stood._

_Yoda took a step closer, craning his neck back to peer up at Qui-Gon. "So easy to convince, are you? So willing?"_

_Qui-Gon tilted his head to one side, quietly answered, "I feel I have no choice."_

_He would not mention his shaken faith in the aftermath of Obi-Wan's disappearance. No one knew, save his former master Dooku. And then there was Mace. The mission report Qui-Gon had filed had only made vague references to the reasoning behind his actions, not out of dishonesty, but because he had not sifted through it all himself. It remained a great mystery that the Force could not have intended. At least, he did not believe so._

_Yoda scowled. "No choice, have you? Think that next time you want to defy the Council, will you?"_

_Qui-Gon beamed, humor lines etching from his eyes. "Healer Maolin, it is," he politely accepted with a gracious bow._

O

"It must be a mistake."

Healer Maolin managed a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, Qui-Gon. The tests are very accurate."

Qui-Gon stared at the healer's face. Her pale golden hair looked almost white and was pulled back, flaxen soft, into small braids that wound delicately around her head. Her oval sable eyes gazed back, unblinking, from where she sat behind a deep burgundy desk in her personal office in the healers ward. Qui-Gon sat in a round-backed vinyl chair facing her, his large frame cramped between the armrests.

"I have some materials," she continued, "on Phexinaghia that I'll give you to read. They'll help you learn more about it and what you can_ do . . . and what you cannot." Her clinical tone could not veil the compassion she felt. She picked up a datapad from her desk and handed it to Qui-Gon._

As he took the pad, Qui-Gon's hand shook. This could not be real. He could not be ill.

His eyes glanced down at the datapad's screen, not really noticing what it said, then he looked at Maolin again. He could see the concern reflecting in her eyes. This felt like a dream, a nightmare. He was supposed to be finding Obi-Wan. Not facing . . . something like this.

"Thank you, Maolin," he heard himself say.

She leaned forward and clasped her hands together. "I know this must be hard for you, Qui-Gon." She spoke gently. "It'll probably take awhile before you come to terms with it and accept it. But you won't be alone through this. I will be there with you through all the changes . . ."

O

The apartment seethed with virtual emptiness. No, it still possessed furniture, appliances, personal affects, and a mishmash of items from various hobbies, collections, and planets, but beneath the hollow reminders of life stood a barren space now inhabited by vacant shadows and shifting air. Where once a gentle smile or warm laugh had brightened the landscape of yesterday, where even the sweet salty tears of one radiant soul had given more joy than a lifetime of fullness before, now all was swallowed by wintry bleakness.

Carefully, Qui-Gon placed the silver cylinder on a shelf over the couch, then stepped back to admire it, frozen in silence, basking in inexpressible thoughts of his missing apprentice. He smiled in spite of himself, the way the sunlight wrapped itself around Obi-Wan's lightsabre. Always the light sought his padawan. His gaze shifted to the object next to it - the river rock he had given the padawan years ago.

Qui-Gon turned away with a sigh, paused when his doorbell chimed melodically. Glancing back at the weapon and stone displayed so achingly out in the open, he felt just a little violated for anyone else to see them, finally concluding to leave it thusly before going to answer the door.

"Qui-Gon." Mace stood there, facial expression dark, movements nervous.

Qui-Gon inclined his head. "Hello, Mace. What brings you here?"

Mace cleared his throat. "I . . . uh . . . I thought you might need to talk." The deep brown eyes hesitantly met Qui-Gon's.

"She told you," Qui-Gon accused mildly, sounding more weary than upset.

Mace shifted his weight and folded his hands in front of him. He nodded. "Yes. She said . . ." he glanced away, down the hall, then looked back, "she said you'd need to talk . . . uh . . ." He cleared his throat again.

Somberness curved Qui-Gon's lips. "It's all right, Mace. You can come in."

Turning, he led the way into the common room where Mace paused at the shelf, noting the placement of the lost padawan's weapon and rock.

They both found a seat, and Qui-Gon asked absently, "Would you like a glass of chilled tangwater? Or brewed tea?"

Shaking his head, Mace took in the heap of datapads strewn across the sofa table, then let his gaze travel over his friend's appearance. Careworn face, wisps of hair loose and straying before tired bleary eyes.

"I'm fine, Mace," Qui-Gon warned.

The Councilor crossed his arms. "Qui-Gon, you're exhausted. Have you looked at yourself lately?"

"I don't need to. Obi-Wan needs me."

"But you can't find him like this. You need rest."

The last sentence hung in the air between them, reverberating like an echo. You need rest.

Shaken, Qui-Gon looked out the windows to the sun. The incandescent crimson disk blazed in the sky, bleeding red light into the room. It flushed his face, painted filaments of hair silvery crimson.

"I'll find him, Mace." Qui-Gon regarded the display of datapads and picked one up. "There's so much to look through."

"No one's ever heard of Veschith," the bald-headed Councilor interrupted flatly. "If he's mentioned in the records, he would have already turned up in a data search. We've run it through a hundred times, Qui. When are you going to -"

"I'll find him, Mace." Qui-Gon's tone remained hopeful, though stubborn. He pushed a few buttons on the pad, skimming over readouts.

Mace sighed impatiently. He's delusional_, he thought, but did not dare say. "Moalin said you need rest. It's apparent that you're not taking care of yourself."_

"I'll rest when I can." Obstinate. But expected.

Mace frowned. "Qui-Gon . . . Phexinaghia is very serious. Without rest, it'll only get worse - sooner."

"Don't you think I know that?" Qui-Gon's voice became gruff, eyes intense with fire, meeting Mace's gaze. "Don't you think I now know that it's interfered with my focus at least as far back as before Obi-Wan's disappearance? That that_ is what caused me to think I was doing the right thing when I left my padawan there? That I abandoned him, thinking I was doing the will of the Force when I was really just doing what I thought the Force wanted? It was all in my mind." He paused to draw a breath, quietly added, "I left him there . . . . And now I have to find him before I go completely Force-blind and then . . . Please understand that." He looked back at the datapad, eyes awash with barely restrained tears. "Please, Mace."_

A frustrated hand rubbed Mace's brow. He shook his head, muttering incoherently, then scooped up a datapad to begin looking for clues . . . that may not be there.

O

_"The januaberries are poor this year," Qui-Gon softly remarked. "Even the tea is." His porcelain cup clinked against the stone table, and he stared past the mahogany-complexioned man to the soft glitter of moonlight on the Opaisul Sea._

_Mace scrutinized the weariness so evident on his friend's face. "When was the last time you had a good sleep, a really good sleep?"_

_"Would you like another cup, Mace?" Qui-Gon asked, seemingly oblivious to the question. His midnight blue eyes shifted and met the other's. "Or I could order you something else. Soimi-latte? Or maybe you'd like to try their tangwater?"_

_"Qui!" Mace shook his head in frustration. "Would you take a look at yourself? You're exhausted! You. need. rest!"_

_"I'm doing fine, Mace. I -" Qui-Gon leaned forward, elbows resting on stone, burying his face in large palms. His fingers trembled visibly as they rubbed his temples._

_Mace pressed a worried hand to the taller man's shoulder, while he spoke gently. "Let's go back to your room." His hand was quickly shrugged off._

_And Qui-Gon scowled at him, pale moonlight softening the look. "I'm going to read the newest reports that I got from Virloah," he stated firmly. "If there's nothing there, then I can go on to Balovio."_

_"Again?"_

_Hurt briefly fluttered in the depths of Qui-Gon's eyes._

_Mace sighed, holding his tongue until a waitress passed them by. "Look, I'm sorry, Qui. But how many times have you been there?"_

_"New names come up, Mace," Qui-Gon explained, his voice calm and steady. "Just because I haven't found it yet, doesn't mean I won't now."_

_"And then? And then?" Mace's voice rose in pitch. "And then when it doesn't you'll go through the whole routine all over again and again and again. The same places, the same names. And Obi-Wan will still be gone." He paused for breath, softly added, "A year is a long time."_

_Qui-Gon raised his porcelain cup to his lips, sipping lightly, eyes sealed against the subdued night._

_Mace inhaled the mildly sweet fragrance of surrounding pletimones that inhabited the myriad pots scattered throughout the elegant courtyard. "I'm sorry, Qui." His compassion reflected deep in his dark eyes. "I'm . . . just worried about you. You'll only get worse without plenty of rest."_

_Setting the cup back down, Qui-Gon gazed at it, long calloused fingers stroking the delicate object. When he looked up, there was a vulnerable glimmer of moonlight in his eyes. "I'm getting worse no matter what, Mace. I know I'm . . . dying. I'll go home . . . when I'm ready."_

_Mace inclined his head, disappointed yet showing his respect for the decision. "I must return to the Temple in the morning. I wish you would accompany me, but I see your stubbornness will not let you." He stood gracefully and slid his chair under the table. "May the Force be with you, Qui-Gon." He winced slightly at the verbal slip, and then offered an apologetic smile before marching away._

_Qui-Gon returned to watching the peaceful sea. It was so huge. Dark waves stretched to where it lapped the bottom of the sky. The convergence was barely visible at night, and in the midst the tiny sail of a ship floated nearly lost to a less discerning eye._

_The Jedi master entwined his fingers in contemplation. Despite what anyone said, despite what bleak storms lashed today, tomorrow stood steadfast on a bright shore of hope in his mind. There was an old saying that he clung to. He studied the tiny sail on the horizon. 'Anything can be found . . . if you look hard enough.'_

O

"I came back to the Temple about four months ago," Qui-Gon said, ". . . after I collapsed at a spaceport on Turidou IV." He felt ashamed to admit this - this failure that was completely out of his hands, that he was helpless to fight against. It had claimed him without so much as a warning, without a chance to correct and make right.

A gentle hand touching his own startled him from his gloomy reverie, and he focused upon the pale face of the person he had come to love through years of shared hardship and fealty as a son. The pale blue eyes of Obi-Wan conveyed all of that love intensified as only his bright soul could.

"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon started, feeling utterly undeserving of any consideration. He dropped his sight down to his hands, strong still but aging, dying.

"Sorry?" Obi-Wan parroted with kindliness. "Sorry for what, Master? For enduring?" His voice snagged on a near-sob.

Qui-Gon made an abrupt headshake. "No! For not finding you. For leaving you out there in some devil's hands -"

"Leaving me?" Obi-Wan squinted against the blurry image marred by sprouting tears. "You didn't _leave me._ I was lost. . . . It's no surprise that no one could find me. I know you did all you could -"

"But it was not enough," the Jedi master inserted, his own eyes watering. "_I _was not enough."

"You are everything you need to be. Everything I need you to be." Obi-Wan sniffed as his throat filled. He had to wait several seconds before he could speak again.

Qui-Gon could do no more than listen and blink back teary drops.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Obi-Wan managed to say and spoke again when Qui-Gon shook his head emphatically. "I'm sorry I was not here for you as you faced this alone."

Gazing away, Qui-Gon regarded the brilliant golden radiance that broke through the windows and poured in rivers across the floor to the edge of his feet. Morning had plod past the night and now beckoned the start of another day.

"We've talked all night," Qui-Gon stated flatly, his body suddenly feeling its weariness. He heaved a tired sigh and his shoulders loosened from their tenseness.

"I'm sorry . . . again," Obi-Wan said. His tone brooked no debate over who should feel sorrier, so Qui-Gon wisely left it alone. "I've kept you awake all night and . . ."

"And I 'need my rest', as everyone keeps reminding me." Qui-Gon rolled his eyes and threw a sharp glance at Obi-Wan when the young man faintly snickered. But Qui-Gon could not keep the humor from limning his own face and snorted a laugh in return. Seriousness returned to them both, a mix of sorrow and weariness upon them, and Qui-Gon placed a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder to squeeze tenderly. "I'm just glad you're here . . . safe."

Unable to voice any words, Obi-Wan offered a bittersweet smile, and then abruptly hugged the Jedi master.

O

EPILOGUE

"How long?" I finally gathered the courage to ask the healer one day. My master would not tell me had I asked; that I knew for certain. He had always kept that distance between us, between the gruff outer appearance and the fragile inner self that lived in constant pain and fear of being hurt again. I do not blame him. He had once told me that age and living makes a man wiser . . . but I've learned that with wisdom comes much sorrow.

He never talked about his illness, even as he slipped away before my eyes. That silence seemed to keep him happy even as he stumbled through every moment, so I never mentioned it. But I was with him. Never did he brave another day without me there to make him comfortable and be for him whatever he needed.

I remember a warm autumn night when the leaves of the Temple gardens drifted in melancholy slow circles to the grass beneath. The trees were just beginning to sere into crisp reds and yellows and the moons perched in their limbs like huge silver balls, glimmers of a beauty untouched by mortal decay.

As we had sat there in the night, he said he had lived a life full and regretted not his fate, that the stars seemed brighter now and the vibrancy of grass greener than ever had he seen. He said that things only waxed more beautiful to the aged eye and the more aware you were of what was truly important. I watched him as his eyes glowed under that silver flow of moonlight, and I knew that he had reached a sense of peace and that his spirit remained undefeated.

He once told me that as the Force drained from him his other senses strengthened and seemed to make up for the debilitating loss of the Force. Perhaps it was this quickening that kept him going and refusing to give in each day as his body weakened in other ways. Even as the dizzy spells continued and worsened he would often laugh and brush off his own frailty. I laughed with him until I closed the door behind me at night and drenched my pillow in endless tears.

I know that he wanted to be there for me through all of my own nightmares and moments when fear and memory came blazing and wrapping me in their phantom arms of iron, but there was only room for one of us to be in need and it was not me.

In his last days, his disorientation increased and he often spent hours sitting on our balcony in a state of lifelessness. He would stare into the distance, unmoving as the sun beat across the sky and plunged the world into darkness. It was all I could do to keep him fed and clean.

I do not regret my life. Nor do I regret one heartbeat of time spent in my master's presence. He was my mentor . . . my father, and for those that will see he possessed a most compassionate spirit that never will one such as I attain.

He passed away one year after my return. We burned his body the next day, and immediately I took up with Master Yoda as his pupil. I hope that I will one day find my place in all of this, my path in destiny's scheme. I did not understand it then and I cannot say that I do now, why some of us are marked to face unkindly circumstances where hopeless endurance is our only shield. I know that the Force plays some part in the uncertain unwinding of the threads of life, like some unfathomable spindle of fate, and it hurts. But I am not bitter. My master played his part to the end. Now I must play mine.

_finis_

OO OO OO

**Thank you everyone for reading along! It's been fun! :)**

**Banshee Fay:** I did not mean that I will not write again, just that my interest is no longer in writing fanfiction. I'm sorry for the confusion. :) Thank you for the nice compliments! And for reading! :)

**Athena Leigh:** What's going on with Qui-Gon will of course be answered here, being that it's the last chapter! Thank you for the nice words! :) I'm glad you've enjoyed!

**Fudge:** I'm glad you found the characterizations as having some depth. I sometimes wonder if I do very well making the characters more than flat. I love your in depth reviews. Thank you for reading! :) I hope you enjoyed!

**Sheila: **It's hard for me to believe it's over too! :) But I'm glad. This uncompleted tale has been hanging over me for a year and now to finally get it posted, I feel like a great weight has been lifted. Thank you so much for reading along! :) Hope you enjoyed!

**Clover Brandybuck:** Yes, it's done now! :) Thanks for everything. You all make it hard to stop writing fanfic but I feel I must. I really don't have the obsession with it like when I first started. I love your fun reviews! Qui-Gon's mystery will be revealed here. Thank you so much! :)

**CYNICAL21: **That bad feeling is not for nothing, CYN! Thank you so much for reading along, and yes I will get around to catching up on your stories (they're the kind of stories that you just can't forget and so I have to finish them.)! I've almost caught up on 'Songs'. I hope you enjoy the ending. :)


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